Unbottle the howl,
wring your throat of choking rage,
rend skies, smash eardrums –
though your heart is weak as wool,
cry, wolf! Fear is for the sheep.
cc via Pixabay
I do not do well with a rule-book, no!
I prefer to be whimsical and free.
I struggle when counting syllables, so
metre’s a mystery to me. (Oops.)
As a child I derided the rhyme scheme –
“something trashy from a bad birthday card”.
I’m so shocked and appalled that I could scream
to find out that it’s actually quite hard.
How many haiku could I have written
in the syllables I’ve hurled at this page?
I must keep to one theme like I’m smitten,
a ceaseless squeak from the back of the cage.
So when they told me to write a sonnet
I thought “on it”, but – dogonnit! – blown it.
By Rebecca C! cc via Flickr
So what now, I hear
my voice say, adrift in your
silence – now, so what?
By Paolo Mazzoleni cc via Flickr
Everything is not
what it ever seemed, never
mind what do I want?
by Nate Steiner cc via Flickr
Take it all in, the
cracked bricks and broken bottles –
make a poem of it.
From Flickr cc by Bruce Berrien
How am I to reach
for the stars when there is no
fuel in my rocket?
Public domain via Wikimedia