Pain defeats poetry;
I resort to mere verse.
My back in spasm
demands full attention.
Doggerel or worse
is my best. The orgasm
of lyrical beauty eludes me,
as does invention.
Yet, may this exercise in rhyme
(called bref doublé)
rate some mention
if only as a weird phantasm
in the annals of poetic divers-
ity.
A 55-word piece for 'imaginary garden with real toads'. Also my Day One offering in the facebook poetry chain for which I was just nominated. And, finally, linking to Gillena's 'Sunday Lime'.
