I wrote this for submission to a fellow blogger's poetry game. Since I'm no poet, I thought the rhyme and meter worked out rather well. See what you think.

Rhyming with all metered gait,
My lines of poetry never wait
For pen to scribe thoughts rushing forth
Like great waves crash on distant shore.

Whoa, I command my mind to wait
For hand to scrawl at frantic pace.
Slow, I tell my mind again.
Still, words rush like torrential rain.

And, then, as though the clouds have run
Dry of all the droplets held,
My mind ceases to send its words,
Allowing hand to slowly pen each verb.

At last, I'm done with latest prose,
I take up page and scan the lines.
"What goes here?" I ask myself.
Longfellow wrote this, himself.

"Alas!" I exclaim while pounding fist.
However will I enter the poetry game?
PG wants my thoughts, not his,
Upon this page, I must not miss.

Oh, say, yon Missus Poetress fair,
Will this, my effort, all compare?
Will you take this, my entry keep,
Or send it back to me toute suite?