I’ve tried
to write a poem
for the solstice
this winter come,
for the shortest day;
the beginning of the end…
I failed
to find a start
carve a middle
coup de grâce
weave a wordy way;
the beginning
of the end…
I set my traps
the night before
made all the best laid plans
I chose the bait
and lay in wait
and all seemed well in hand;
the beginning of
the end…
patience
that’s the key
so it seemed
but easy said
is rarely easy done;
the beginning
of
the end…
as light became
less light
my eyes
shuttered wide
to closed
and into sleep
I dribbled deep
from yawn to drowse
to doze;
the beginning of the end
came when I awoke
and found
nothing much to find
but pins and needles
muscle cramp
a spider hanging
from my hat
but not a rhythm
not a rhyme
nor any useful line,
nothing fine
that could be used
to light a fuse
or bold enthuse
to glean a verse
to break this curse,
not epic,
blank,
not villanelle,
not idyll,
even terse.
[sigh]
I’ve tried
to write a poem
but despite
my best attempts
I wrote
a shopping list instead:
coffee
tea
turnips
tomatoes
crackers
crisps
and cheese.
by ROBERT GREIG
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