A poem about poetry and how to write it... Nothing really epic but something I wrote for fun...
Written on the 8th of August '09, Saturday 3:30 am
They say that, in poetry
Words must trickle
Forth, in an endless torrent.
With words colliding hurriedly
Writing away with mind supple
To the wile’s of rhyme, meter and mind’s content
Comedy, tragedy, irony.
All find their place
In measured lines, lyrical yet deep.
Line after line, verse after verse, completely
At the mercy of a mind’s fanciful fickle forays
Conduct ink into paper, seep.
Inspiration a key word oft heard
And as often experienced as
Offered chocolate gone untouched
They talk of how absurd
Moods striking en mass
And lead to poems great and perfectly metered.
But I suck at Poetry…
Inspiration cometh to me,
In the straggling throes of death
Or in unrealized infancy
Words flow as bark down a tree
Pages filled with cross-outs and …. markeths?”
And my rhymes, my dear, are just plain dreary.
I stare at this page blank
Willing myself to write
While prose all alluring smugly chuckles
Words I try to crank
Out, but end up with jumble and trite.
Frustrated I scratch out another line and think of a rhyme for ‘ckles’
Dictionary in hand
I search for a bludgeoning victim
While questioning this masochist pursuit
Yet still contemplating papyrusial homicide grand!
Oh bugger, another cross, another destitute whim
But alas, an hour’s unholy journey rewarded with this poem passably cute.