The Quest

And now I shall endeavor to write poetry. What is a blogger good for if he can't write good poetry? Here's a tip when you read something like this of mine: don't get offended.

The Quest


Once upon a time,
Sam tried to write a poem.
He tried to make it rhyme,
But for some lines he couldn't make it rhyme or fit in the right amount of syllables,

So he thought me might despair,
and went into the tub,
was going to pull his hair,
until he saw some grub.

food always made him happy,
unless it stank of cheese,
for when it did Grace Sappy,
would squeal like nobody's business.

But this grub smelt of thyme,
and so Grace did not squeal,
and so it made Sam happy,
to his taste it did appeal.

but Sam was still depressed,
for he was not a poet,
So he began a quest,
to make himself a poet.

He first drove down to Texas,
and knocked on Joey's door,
Joey blarghed out "TOST!"
which blew Sam to the floor.

He then explained to Jo,
His need for poet skillz,
"JESIKA" Jo gorghled,
in a pitch like way too shrillz

Twas then that Samuel knew,
despite his pretty purse,
consulting with that oddball,
would only make him worse.

So then Sam said, "farewell"
while wishing for a noodle.
"BERTIE IZ LYK FAT" Jo said,
Then chased his neighbor's poodle.

So Sam sat down and pondered,
"Who'll teach me this crucial art?"
And so he opened up a map,
And looked upon the chart.

He spotted Caleb Lagan's house,
put the map back in the trunk,
he started off but realized,
He'd just be called a punk.

Then out came the map again,
a frown curled down his lip.
"I know!" said he, "I'll go to Bre!"
And he began the trip.

The hike took twenty months to walk,
a time of pain untold,
but when he had arrived there,
though covered round with mold,

He knew the trek would find it's worth,
and with confidence in his stride,
He knocked upon that fated door,
a voice within replied:

"Please go away, I'm busy."
"But Please!" Sam yelped in fear.
"I'm watching American Idol,
It's the last show of the year."

"I implore you!" Samuel pleaded,
"You need to help me rhyme!"
"Sorry bubs," Breanne replied,
"Better luck next time."

And so out came that map once more,
Sam sat beside a tree.
Upon the map was placed a dot,
the homestead of Grace B.

So there he went to seek her aid,
not knowing what to expect.
he assembled at Grace B's front door,
standing up, unchecked;

Ah wait, an answer, the door swings open,
and Sam is admitted in!
He'd never gotten quite this far,
and so began to grin.

He explained to Grace just why he'd come,
She nodded her approval,
She then began to meditate,
and Sam feared his removal.

But then she opened up her mouth,
and then began to speak:
"You've got to make your poem sparkly,
For when it's thus, it's sleek."

Finally, Sam knew the secret!
Oh how his face did shine!
And so he added "sparkly"
In the midst of every line.

Our tale comes to a sparkly end,
and what a sparkly end!
and thus Sam's works were sparkly,
and everyone thought he was a poet master. sparkly.


Sample of Sam's sparkly poetry:

Sparkle sparkle little star,
how I wonder how you sparkle,
up above the sparkle to see,
Sparkles two and sparkles three,
Sparkle sparkle little star,
how I wonder how you sparkle.