It’s equinox and World Poetry Day:
Check your clocks and locks, be sure all’s okay.
With an equal time for both day and night,
It’s a time to rhyme, and no crime to write.
Unless,
I guess,
Your poem is a mess.
In other words…
I had a clever concept, as clever as could be,
That I’d fill my book with poems and lies
And dire uncertainty.
And I’ve nearly got it finished but…
It just might finish me.
Because…
It’s too unkind – I’m in a bind – my wretched mind just will not find
The rhyme, the rhythm, meter or beat, to write the poem, complete and neat.
Instead…
Howling doggerel is let slip, from the leash of my pen,
It chases down the troika, rips the will to live and then,
It spatters bad rhymes on the snow,
Relentless, devouring, as though
It will eat the world. It won’t go
Unless I stop feeding it words….
I guess that would work.
*Sorry. It’s all, unfortunately true. Except for the troika. I’m trying to write a poem for my current work in progress, but it’s just a steaming pile of naffness. So Happy World Poetry Day, damn it – why don’t you go and read something good. If you need a little inspiration (get to end of the queue) The Independent kindly assembled 28 of poetry’s most powerful lines. You could start there. I can’t join you. I have to walk the doggerel.
I’m pretty damn happy with how it all went, because the work in progress is now 47 out of 51 chapters done, so just 4 chapters and 146 hashtags away from being a finished first draft.