When winter’s grip is laid upon the land,
And my world is frozen in its icy hand,
I’m sometimes spurred to write – albeit it terse
A few lines of doggerel, in rhyming verse.
At times bizarre thoughts cross my mind
As I plumb its depths, hoping perhaps to find,
An amusing stanza or two to pass the day,
That can be recorded for reading another day.
At once my little grey cells are put on red alert:
Words, lines and couplets will sometimes assert
Themselves unbidden, then scramble to the fore
Until acknowledged! Maybe one, two or a score
Will follow - as do ideas, or an offbeat thought:
Far more than are needed today, for what I’d sought.
As I stop further thinking, having enough for now.
I type as quickly as aging arthritic fingers allow:
I’ll save all other suggestions for another cold day,
As I hasten to compose lines on what came my way.
At times, poetic lines penned when boredom rules,
Become worthy verses from use of a Poet’s tools,
And garner empathy from readers, who suffer the same.
If not the cold? Then what excuse can we use to blame
For our lack of inspiration on a day such as this?
When composing poetry, brings me a moment of bliss.
Be it simple, complex, long, short or grandiose,
The pleasure I get from composing rhyme or prose
Is never measured by the number of lines I write,
But by the inherent quality within. If lines seem trite?
Then effort is wasted: poetry needs none such as these.
I’m of the thought; poetic meter should scan to please.
So it’s my intention, to continue writing as I do,
And to entertain and amuse, folks such as you.
Thus, by following a tenet that adds iambic beat,
I strive to ensure my poem is rhythmically neat.
Rhymer January 20th, 2020.
Well suited for today. Minus 20 C - cold - though skies are clear blue. Winds strong from the North, bring dangerous bone chilling moments for those who have no shelter. I am blessed by having warmth as my friend. Ciao, Denis.