One day at dawn a poet rose
And thought he'd try his hand at prose
To poet pals he met at park
He said, "That's how I'll make my mark!"
Loquacious lad like Marcel Proust
His brevity just needed boost!
As poet, he'd been stuck in mud
Like lotus bloom bound up in bud
He longed to be verbose in verse
But deep inside his heart did nurse
A need to nurture novel long
So sure that stanzas suited song
Or sentimental, love-filled line
While he was craving stronger wine
That flowed effusively like stream
A sea of endless words - his dream!
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Author:
Blue-eyed Bolla (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: February 5th, 2016 11:12
- Comment from author about the poem: I suppose this is a poem about a poet experiencing a crisis of faith about his calling to be a poet, probably wondering if he isn't, after all, meant to try his hand at prose...
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 65
- Users favorite of this poem: Kevin Michael Bloor
Offline)
Comments1
My story is just the opposite I started with prose and after years of frustration I realized my forte, if I have one, is the rhyme. Nice poem it captures the spirit of one trying to decide. But doesn't the muse decide? Excellent work!!
Thank you seeker! I appreciate your feedback and comments. By the way, I will never abandon rhyme, just how I felt on the day.😉
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