Why do you have me sitting in this place? It is cold outside.
It's snowing out My toes are freezing When will we go home? Now you're watching.
Looking at me and thinking who knows what.
You know I gave up from reading your thoughts you're wondering; when will I get mad, take the paper sheet and crumple the stuff.
Yes! That yellow sheet of paper you got from the young waitress.
I saw you touched her while sipping your glass of Chardonnay wine.
Writing and winking probably thinking, "She is just crazy.
" You have just counted on your ten fingers; now you're using all of your ten toes.
Syllables he says- "It's a poet's thing!" Hah, licking your lips? When he is all done then he will want me to read it to him when he is in bed, ready to snore.
See if it flows right he will say to me.
I don't know this stuff.
We should be doing something else that's sweet and pleasurable.
Hotter and better.
Sweeter and nicer.
Now, he wants to write on a paper sheet from a young waitress with a pretty smile.
I am sitting here; but you know just what? He just winked at me! What's up? Tell me now! Another coffee? Refill on your wine? Muse? Yea glad you did.
Because I almost- Walked out of this booth! © Joseph S.
Spence, Sr.
, 8/9/09 © All Rights Reserved This is a normative syllabic poem.
The poems are normally in a variety of ways.
This particular poem is written with three lines in each stanza with five syllables in each line.
The syllable is a unit of speech with a single, uninterrupted cluster of sound, which could be as short as a single vowel.
It may also be as long as a vowel or diphthong surrounded by consonant combinations, such as sphinx, breathe, and stretch.