Why Painteth Doth A Painter?

What shall my message be as contained herein this verse
Should it be chanced upon such as, say, a missing purse
Somebody left behind and knew not just where it went
And only then regret losing what might have been spent?

What should my message be as contained herein this verse
Should there at all be one like a doctor and a nurse
Were for each other made like the seashore and the sea
Were for each other made like the pea pod and the pea?

Should there a message be somewhere hidden in this verse
Such as a booby trap that brings forth a hearty curse
And also if so meant bits of flesh and drops of blood
That if allowed to flow might be graded as a flood?

Should I just hold the wheel like the captain of a ship
Whose vessel on a screen was a storm enshrouded blip
And adding to his woes had no engines that would work
Perhaps as someone had somewhere screwed up like a jerk?

Why shouldn't verses be so designed to warm the heart
Till sagging spirits soared like a hit song on a chart
Or shine like beacons did in the darkness of the night
Or make an audience rise to applaud in sheer delight?

Why painteth doth a painter on canvas or on wood
Regardless of the outcome as long as it was good?

Sonnet Soup, Anyone?

The spirit of the Bard doth beckon me
To conjure up a sonnet for this book
As though somewhere was kept the recipe
And all one had to do was for it look
And thereupon draw up a shopping list
For what was needed for the cooking pot
Once sliced or chopped by skillful knife and wrist
And which once cooked was served still steaming hot
Which Grandma says was how it's done with soup
Regardless of one's current state of health
Or coffee on one's own or in a group
For ten bucks where such prices signaled wealth
Which would of course make Grandma shake her head
And wonder at what else was up ahead.

The spirit of the Bard doth beckon me
To conjure up a sonnet for this book
Although if still alive today were he
I'll bet he'll say I was a lousy cook
As lofty was the language he employed
Unlike the common street tongue that I spoke
Which in a sonnet wouldn't be enjoyed
Unless like me you were a common bloke.