findingtimetowrite

Thinking, writing, thinking about writing…

The Death of Poetry

I’m poet-ed out.

 

My words, once so deft

at finding me,

now stand chastened

like moon-faced schoolboys

caught truant once again.

They’ve let me down,

skived off when most needed.

They’ve left in a scramble of deafening noise.

 

I tripple, weary, through mock-landscapes of meaning,

I gush and jargon with the best,

as, achingly, I long for sparseness,

hard-won meander, richness to digress.

Ideal conduct of desire,

harbinger of eloquence,

I snatch at shadows

flitting just outside my vision.

 

There is no rhyme

there is just reason

in my life and on my page.

 

 

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14 thoughts on “The Death of Poetry

  1. Absolutely brilliant, you have a wicked way with words!

  2. Oh yes, been there… beautifully put. I hope reason flies and rhyme returns to bless your words again.

  3. Gorgeous, punchy rhythm. Loved it!

  4. Marina Sofia – What a powerful way to express that feeling of simply being out of words. Beautifully done!

  5. Just fabulous! We have all known this feeling….so many brilliant lines…”I snatch at shadows flitting just outside my vision”….so frustrating! But obviously this piece shows you are definitely not “poeted-out”.!

  6. As noisily as they scrambled away, they will return. Wait.

  7. Wonderful word play, love: ‘I gush and jargon with the best, / as, achingly, I long for sparseness’ :)

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