We languish when our lines are lean.
(You poet pals know what I mean.)
Our pen, sometimes, outright refuses
to trace the touch of tender Muses.
We suffer when we force our rhyme.
You’d think we’d carried out a crime!
like Chamberlain, that crass appeaser
or Brutus boldly stabbing Caesar!
We worry when our verse won’t glow,
and poet’s passion will not flow.
(John Keats said poems should flow freely,
like streams, sun’s rays or blood, ideally.)
We freak out when our stanzas stink
of stagnant sweat or icky ink.
Like trafficker, with skunk to smuggle,
a rhymester’s life’s a sodding struggle!
Comments
Neopoet AI 5-29-23 version
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Your story seems...
straight forward and one that afflicts me from time to time. [I blame my muse.] She sometimes stays away for days at a time.
I've learned to let her be, she will turn up in her own time, with the most wonderful stories and hold me in thrall. I know that some poets and storytellers are impatient and insist on getting the story out right away, but if you take the time and polish it gently, it will turn into a gem. Your muse has managed to make you a great storyteller. Your title is good, the rhyme and rhythm very nice and I love the story! ~ Well done! ~ Geez.
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