Oh, to be a Poet………..
(Thought I’d do a hand-me-down post and reblog one of my earlier posts in answer to the Daily Prompt:-Hand-Me-Downs)
Mr P was excited! He looked at the weekly writing challenge on Daily Post and the theme was Poetry. You had to either compose a poem or write on the topic of poetry.
“Easy Peasy”, thought Mr P.
“What distinguishes poetry from prose?” he wondered as he took up a pen and paper to jot his poetry down.
He racked his brains, and apart from identifying that the lines in poetry were short and rhymed, he could not find many differences. Even with rhyming – (Mr P remembered how he had wandered into a library by chance and had browsed through a modern poetry book) he had not found any rhyme in those poems – let alone reason.
Thirty minutes down the track, with not a single word written, Mr P realised he was stuck. He probably had writer’s block, he thought. Mr P could not pinpoint when it could have started as he could not remember when he had ever written a poem before. “I could have been born with writer’s block!” he presumed.
Despite his frustrations, a few hours later Mr P was proudly reading out his poem, over the fence to his neighbour.
I tried to write poetry
And honestly did I try:
Through the window in front of me,
For inspiration, I eyed the tree;
It was not my Bodhi tree,
Enlightenment didn’t flow in spree.
I looked for answers in the sky
Where a wad of clouds floated by;
No thoughts, no words came wafting down
And I was left looking a clown;
I ogled and googled, all in vain,
Miss Verse was averse, it was plain.
I sipped a glass of drool of moose
And shut my eyes and sat to muse;
I nodded off and fell on the floor,
Knocked my head and back, still sore;
Then Poetry gushed through in galore!
“Don’t you think I write as well as Shakespeare?” Mr P asked his neighbour who now stood with a deeply pained expression.
“I would think that this would make the Bard of Avon cringe in his grave”, said the neighbour.
“Bird of What? Who is that?” wondered Mr P.