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.
Comments
You describe it as if it were a chastity belt :-)
Gotta smile.
Well said, Susie, and you do have a very fine point: should we twist our words to suit a rhyme or let them loose to grow organically? Despite your aversion to forms, you have done a fine job here. Very much enjoyed.
I find the exercise mentally stimulating actually ~ Just once in a while but not the whole time or else my mind will go into gridlock ~
Hugs, K