‘Iambic pentameter is a bore’
Say those without a single shred of wit
Though I’ll admit, perhaps it’s a bit more
Effort than what appears the worth of it
Tag: writing about writing
523
I forgot to write a poem!
Whatever shall I do?
Give up and now forgo ’em?
Stop writing? Reading, too?
I’m feeling so embarrassed
But now the hour is late
So I will merely write this
And ‘morrow sleep by eight
A walk at night
I went out walking with a pen in hand
And found that all the Earth is stories told
I quickly listened, and these stories penned
Deep into night’s embrace of silent cold
Sonnet 11 – Breakdown
Alas! As if my brain had turnt to sludge
I’ve lost my will to write; each lonely drop
Of creativity won’t spark, won’t budge
They each insist they cease, desist, and stop
My lexicon’s diminished, torn to shreds
I’m scarce able to rhyme, resigned to plod
Along all day until it’s time for bed(s)
And write, ‘blah blah, blah blah, blah blah, blah blah’.(d)
Not long before the meter will succumb
To frazzled, twisted thoughts that can’t quite form
Coherent, structured sentences dumb
They make so little sense anymore
Perhaps I’ll turn to reading now instead
Perhaps somehow it can reset my head
The quiet thought
As I am writing in my chair
A quiet thought arrives:
Why do I write? How do I dare
To presume to change lives?
Why should I for a moment think
That which I’ve said’s profound?
That all will still my poems drink
When I am in the ground?
This tort’rous thought traps me in webs
Of which I can’t escape
While fleeting inspiration ebbs;
In doubt I myself drape.
