It’s not the breadth of his shoulders
Or the warmness of his gut
It’s not the stride of his long legs,
That oh so proud strut
It’s not the coin of his bank
Saved in bunches
To cope with any fallout
From rainy-day punches
Nor is it being held in his strong arms,
A niche for me made so dear
It is his deep rumble of sweet nothings
Whispering everything in my ear
Tonight at dVerse, Björn challenges us to Listen to Lists. Be creative, use any type of list and then write a poem from that list. Let it grow, and be inspired by rhymes and metaphors.
My list is also something of a Not Poem.