I bite my nails at writing rhyme.
My thoughts cannot twist into sounds
that bond and sing on common ground.
My poetry stumbles each time
it draws ink from the excuses
my fear of failure produces.
Taking a pen in hand I climb
the mountain of my disconnect
iced with the whining of protest.
Should poets seek a paradigm
for grumbling inefficiency
they will find it authored by me.
If I am ever going to shine
I must remove the stumbling block
of my damn, self-induced gridlock.
©Susie Clevenger 2014
Kerry at Real Toads had us writing a Constanza poem.