I ... entered the poem of life, whose purpose is ... simply to witness the beauties of the world,
to discover the many forms that love can take. (Barabara Blackman in 'Glass After Glass')

This blog is not, 'Here are my very best poems'. It's for work in progress, subject to revision.
Posts may be updated without notice at any time. Completed work appears in my books.

17 April 2012

Mixed-Up Poem

The poem is distracted.
She wrings her hands
and curses freely.
I am so mixed up, she cries.

I amb so not a sonnet,
and as for pentameter,
I’d as soon have distemper.

Am I just some kind
of lune-y?
Well mate, you tell me!

I used to love
sitting in sweet silence,
all the dear words
waiting for me to choose,
then telling me, ‘Tanka!’

but now I ghazal them whole
I, the poem without a soul.

I cannot bear to stay alone
without a ballad to my name.
With all my rhymes and metres gone
there is no fame, there’s only blame.

Listen! the high coo
of a mournful dove flying
away from this page...

April PAD Challenge #16: a mixed up poem

5 comments:

  1. What a sad state of affairs! A poem with an identity crisis. I do like what you did with this prompt.

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    Replies
    1. Mary, that sounds almost dignified! :-D

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    2. LOL. Ah, Mary does put this poem well. A definite identity crisis we can all relate to when we poets hit writer's block even! ROFL. Enjoyed this poem, Rosemary. :)

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  2. "Listen! the high coo
    of a mournful dove flying
    away from this page..." LOVE THIS!

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