It's Hard to Write a Poem a Day

[Keanumoreira]

Nothing to think of, little to say;

It's hard to write a poem a day.

This day's past I neglected and knew,

Just what I was obliged to do.

 

--"Tis is hard", I remind myself--

Pages of books and yearning shelves,

To fill with thoughts and passions galore,

With volumes of prose upon the floor--

 

And on the tables piled high,

Where fishes dance and gumballs fly,

Or something just as crazy too,

Like if this poem spoke to you?

 

Or something outrageous, if you hope,

Perhaps like sky-di-ving with the pope.

Or to seek some cure for your stomach, sore,

And to happen upon a kitchen war.

 

Or to play some notes if you decide--

To find that they have sprung alive;

And gather together as they condone,

To compose some music of their own.

 

Or if a book should speak for itself,

Or decide to leap from every shelf;

And fight a war against our say,

And it was us up on display--

 

So much prose there is to pen;

Much to ink these lines within.

Nothing to think of, little to say;

It's hard to write a poem a day.

Edited May 22, 2013 by Keanumoreira