Still Amusing Myself

I CANNOT WRITE A HAPPY POEM 2

I cannot write a happy poem. It seems
My words are milk left sitting in the sun.
They curdle without ever forming cream.
I sour every sweet thing I’ve begun.

My words are milk left sitting in the sun
Underneath a clear-blue summer sky.
I sour every sweet thing I’ve begun.
Every time— I still can’t figure why.

Underneath a clear blue summer sky,
I lie and wait expecting clouds and rain.
Every time— I still can’t figure why.
I look okay, but clearly I’m insane.

I lie and wait, expecting clouds and rain
To spoil this nice picnic that I’m on.
I look okay, but clearly I’m insane,
Wearing my galoshes on the lawn.

To spoil this nice picnic that I’m on,
I spill my milk and watch how fast it flows.
Wearing my galoshes on the lawn,
I stomp in puddles, muddying my clothes.

I spill my milk and watch how fast it flows,
Covering these pages with such ease.
I stomp in puddles, muddying my clothes.
I’ll rinse them out and dry them in the breeze.

Spilling onto pages with such ease,
They curdle without ever forming cream.
I’ll wash them out and dry them in the breeze.
I cannot write a happy poem it seems.

I love rhyming verse. I do. I haven’t had so much fun writing in ages.

I had been looking for a way to rekindle that sense of fun and found it in a book about poetic forms. Other years, I’ve tried setting myself a theme each month to help me focus and keep me thinking about writing. This year, I think I’ll try a different form each month. I’ll indulge my love for pantoums for the rest of January, then move on.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s