It had slipped my mind
But now I find
That it is National Poetry Day.
Poets will make hay
Or not
Depending on whether they have lost the plot.
I have got
No plot at all
So will my readers stall
With words that writhe
As they strive
To go somewhere.

Shall I write about a pair.
A clever play on pair and pare?
I swear
That the pair
I have in mind
Is more divine
Than any wine
One will find
In vineyard
Where maidens pick the hard fruit.

How long shall I pontificate?
For it is getting late
And National Poetry Day
Will soon pass away
Have I anything to say
Or do I merely play
With a word
Absurd
Which, joined with another,
(All words are brothers)
Forms a sentence perhaps,
Or do I collapse
Into something, I know not what?
Indeed, I believe that I have lost the plot.