The Lost Word

On occasion, when I really don’t know what else to do, I write poetry. Since I don’t feel much like collecting those little outbursts or submitting them somewhere, I thought I might share them with you.

This one is a complete nonsense one. Sorry ’bout that.


The Lost Word

My muse doesn't want to be associated with this.

My muse doesn’t want to be associated with this.

My sincerest contempt goes out to

whoever put the ‘w’ in ‘who’

I wish to rage and scream and shout

at those who put the ‘b’ in ‘doubt’

My heart is heavy, weighed down low

when thinking of ‘gh’ in ‘dough’

The one who put the ‘n’ in column?

His hide would make the finest drum

Someone must have been just a little bored

to add a ‘w’ to sword

Burn shall the one in hell’s fiery heat

who gave the ‘p’ to the receipt

I judge it as the foulest crime

that with an ‘h’ you spell a rhyme

But why the anger, why the tears

at whoever had all those brilliant ideas?

I’ll tell you why, had they taken every letter

instead of spreading them out, had kept them together

a whole new word they could have had

one hard to rhyme, I’ll grant you that

but either way, those evil thieves

have robbed us of wbghnwph.


About angelikarust

My name is Angelika Rust. I was born in Vienna in 1977. These days, I live in Germany, with my husband, two children, a despotic couple of cats and a hyperactive dog. After having tried almost every possible job from pizza delivery girl to HR consultant, I now make a living knowing English. No, I haven’t yet figured out what I want to be when I grow up, whenever that may be. In the meantime, I write the occasional book.
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