My poetry is a time of curiosity, of smiles,
And childlike satisfaction of using guile,
It is a gift, a talent, imagined or real,
That lets my heart express how I feel,
It shapes itself from thought to pen,
And stirs my soul to write again,
My muse is often witty when she has her say,
Mediocre poems are due to her really bad day,
They may be laden with imagery and flow,
Or fall flat on their faces with little to show,
But the worst poem of all is the poem not written,
It waits swollen with promise, as if snake bitten,
Stares forlornly as other poems strut their stuff,
And never ventures out, it’s not good enough,
Nor does it climb into one of my dreams,
Pestering to be written as a beautiful theme,
The poem not written gets left behind,
Forever out of sight, and finally out of mind.
Beautiful. Although I think it is a little unfair to blame your muse for bad poems; it should be a team effort. :) I do agree the worst poems are the ones left behind, not for their poor structure, content, or expression, but for their nonexistence.
ReplyDeleteI take to heart your description of a poem not written. Many times I jot things down and think that is not good enough to put on my blog, since I am not a poet. Just struggling to verbalize feelings that pop up. Thanks for stopping by my neck of the woods.
ReplyDeleteQMM
Always a pleasure to visit and learn from others. I'll let the muse have her way, or she won't work with me today.
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