JOHNMICHAEL SIMON POETRY

The wysiwyg witch labors in her kitchen

Stirring her wordy broth of mixed metaphors

Stanzad and squiggled cubes of color

Rise and sink in fragrant bubbles

All ingredients carefully measured and mixed

Potage du jour for her waiting customers

 

Always hungry, appetites aroused by spicy aromas

They shuffle impatiently in the queue

Waiting for the doors to open

Scanning the chalked-up specials

 

This soup kitchen caters for all tastes

Verbal vegetarians, Haiku hoboes, vitamin phrase gobblers

Health verse addicts, strict i dotters and t crossers

Rhyming freaks licking their beaks

All flock to Wysiwyg’s kitchen

 

At last the welcomed key grates in its slot

And the doors are opened by a grinning imp

Who hands out gaily colored full version daily menus

Guides regular customers to their tables

And serves them carefully concocted Sushi verses

As a first course, compliments of the management

 

So get set for a feast

All you penniless poets and unfed artists

No one leaves Wysi’s place hungry

It’s an All You Can Eat establishment