Friday, May 10, 2013

Why I Don't Write Poetry 2013-1

Haven't written in a while,
I've gone a few feet - even miles.
The muse really isn't much use,
A fragile thing easily beaten and bruised.
Waiting on it to inspire
To write words you'd admire,
But instead this is all I've gotten,
A missive, easily forgotten.

Still I hold out all hope,
That I don't sound like I'm smokin' dope.
Waiting on the words to come together,
Wound together like on a tether.
Instead all I get is tripe,
But really, who am I to gripe?
At least I've gotten a tickle,
From that muse, so temperamental, so fickle.

1 comment:

Linda McMann said...

I struggle with that daily, too! Where is that pesky devil?
I'm also hoping you are okay after seeing the devastating weather in Oklahoma. Please be safe and tell us how you are doing. Sending prayers to you and your community!