Jargon Of A Drunk

In the name of his genius word's of wonder.
Who he thinks' his dazzle,
Will cause a tongue, to cleave to the roof
Of one's mouth.
When his great mind, now, the unsealed book.
His baffling description, his mortal funk.
Will surge the wind and harrow up the soul,
That always, makes his audiences, plant struck
Like a duck, seized in a storm of thunder
Only to have the message, pass away
Like he changeable, precarious, summer clouds.

by Joyce H. Haase

Other poems of JOYCE H. HAASE (1)

Comments (1)

This has got to be one of the sorriest excuses for a poem I have ever had the greatest disadvantage of tripping over. I see that the author is a vanity publisher victim which makes it even all the more wretched. All of the other poems that are accepted by the likes of the 'International Libary of Poetry' are so incredibly hapless and piteous, its a shame someone like ('Ms' Haase I'll presume) , has to take a counterfeit ride on the tailfeathers of the high flown words of such a pathetic company.