Playing with Letters

For the Writer’s Cramp

A poem, a poem, that I want to write,
but it’s getting late,
can I get this right? A verse, a stanza
defies my thoughts…I’m looking for
easy, but at what cost? Do I sacrifice
form for the easy win? Or do I
go for
humor and get the big grin?
I wonder and ponder and think and I muse; I
just can’t seem to
know what to do.
Let me think, let me see, let me
mull over a rhyme…yet
nothing, nothing comes swiftly to mind. If
only if only my mind would commit,
perhaps I could
quickly find words that would fit. But only
rebellion is
steeped in my
thoughts, so strange and
unusual—it may well be for naught. So I’ll
vanquish this quest for
words and for verse, but I’ll
xerox these notes, for better or worse. And one day
you’ll see, I’ll get it together, if I’m not too gung-ho or overly
zealous.