THE MAD POET:

Do you deem to call me poet and demonic rapscallion?

Do you call me an old obsolete labyrinthine Daedalean?

Do you see me as the droll dancing Dervished Deviant?

Who through words, lets loose & knows how to really rant?

I´m but a simple man with an exploding & seeking silly brain,

A simple delusional diarist who is probably not entirely sane,

Of daunting lines, drones & diarrhoeaic, & utterly drunken diatribe,

That induces me on every available surface, to scribble & enscribe.

I am the lonely lyrical lunatic of long forgotten & dusty dialogue,

Who hides within the mental dungeon of murky derogatory fog,

Scribbling peppered letters with diaphanous words, & silly lines,

But only when the moon shows me her mad & pregnant signs.

You accuse me & at times, tell me I am a poet & errant Bard,

To answer that accusation would for me, be so terribly hard,

When all I try to do, is be rid of all these crazy words inane,

That just goes round in my head & tires my poor old bursting brain.