Why I Don't Write Poetry
With Apologies to Poets Everywhere
Poetic turn is hidden from my sight
As unto paper this my hand I place
And try to find the words this day to write
The soul of that red wonder there with grace.
I study head so pert and feathers fine
And try to plait a net of words to hold
A creature never meant for tangled twine
Or fancy woven images so bold.
But 'fore my hands can note that selfsame tune
And fashion form from nothing on this page,
I feel the blogspot pull of Mossy Moon
To show me the true workings of a sage.
I peer at life turned art on paper set
And skulk away the challenge here unmet.