One Hour

I've given myself an hour to write
A proper sonnet in the English style
Of meter and rhyme. I'd like to delight
You with a cunning couplet that would dial
In to the very center of your mind
And provide the proper dénouement to
The well-laid setup that I have refined
Over the first mere dozen lines. So view
This hastily assembled string of words
And tell me if you think I got it right.
Will this only work for poetry nerds?
Or will others sympathize with my plight?
     I gave myself an hour for this rhyme,
     And now I'm done in only half that time.

The Poet's Hypocrisy

I can create a lovely song of joy
To describe how I feel when you are near.
I'll scribble notes like a nervous schoolboy,
Then sing them out for everyone to hear.
A seduction in verse, employing all
Of my verbal tricks, every metaphore
In my arsenal firing up the tall
Towers of your heart, knocking at your door.
And you reply, with composition and
Skill, that my efforts have won your day. You
Sing your song of joy, beautiful and grand.
But that is not what I want you to do.
     Actions, not words, are what keeps my heart fed
     Don't tell me you love me, show me instead.