A friend of mine has encouraged me to have a crack at writing poems which do not use end rhyme. This is perhaps the start of something new. I hope you like it.
Water dances over the stone obelisk
making sweet music as it tumbles and turns.
The joyous sound, natural, calm, peaceful.
A tranquil environment, sit, lighten the load.
Yet, there is an alien tune, an intruder.
Insipid, plink plonk of piano, sax, bass.
Riffles of Jazz on endless loop.
Someone, somewhere played this
image of a dark smoke filled room.
Worse still, someone bought it
and inflicted it on tranquillity.
Turn it off, let the natural order return.
Let the rivulets run.
John Carré Buchanan
15 January 2014