By JANE LOTTER

Recently, I was told that writing poetry is all the rage with the masses; poetry groups and poetry readings are springing up around the country. Therefore, because I am nothing if not a slave to popular culture, I have jumped on the bandwagon and written several emotional and self-revealing verses, a few of which I'd like to share with you. Here is the first:

We are out of coffee.

Again.

I was particularly proud of the above poem, feeling I'd invented a new form of haiku, until I looked it over and realized it was not a poem at all, but simply a complaining little note I'd written to Bob.

However, I'm sure this next one really is a poem because someone - possibly one of the children - has scrawled a title, "Light Rail," across the top of it.

Light rail, light rail,

You are too heavy for me, light rail

My brain collapses under the weight of you.

I am squished.

Squished, squished, squished.

Squished by you,

light rail.

Yes, well, let's see if we can find something a little more upbeat. Oh, here's a good one. It's titled "Ode to the Space Needle on Its 40th Birthday."

Over the years they've messed with you,

And it causes me vexation.

Your paint, your prices, your gift shop -

The speed of your rotation.

And that lower-level (slapped on in the eighties),

May appeal to city slickers.

But I have to agree with my friends and mateys -

It looks like you dropped your knickers.

And, finally, I think I'll sign off with this little number, called "City Light." Actually, it's more of a song than a poem; you sing it to the tune of Joni Mitchell's "Big Yellow Taxi." Go ahead, belt this one out next time you're in the shower:

Late last night, I heard the screen door slam,

And a City Light official told me I'd been scammed.

Don't the bill look high to you?

Well, there ain't a darn thing that you can do!

Whatever you pay, it's gonna be a lot.

Whatever you pay, it's gonna be a lot.