CardThatPoet

  It seems to me sometimes
  That forcing verse to rhyme
      And cleaving to the beat
      Of strict iambic feet
  Leads to surprising power,
  To metaphors that flower
      In unexpected sprays
          Of light.

  But when images wrestle for attention,
  When fistfights break out that shatter the meter,
  When at mile 23 my blisters have burst,
    calves cramped, thighs chafed raw,
      I've heaved up a lung, and the stench in the portajohn
        has seized the stanzas and won't let them go ---
  That's when I throw down my pen and shout,
      "To hell with this sonnet!  Muse, gimme a beer!"

TopicHumor - TopicPoetry - Datetag20060824

(correlates: ParkwayDelay, SuckItUp, AndThenTheVultureEatsYou, ...)