A rhyming poem about many a poet's desire versus reality.
The poetic format is stanzas of quatrains, with ten syllables per line, end-rhymed couplets, with alliteration emphasized.
Our poet wished to write a most profound
poem if the proper thoughts could be found,
a piece to proclaim his great intellect,
but all his subjects proved to be suspect.
He sat pondering, searching for the words
to earn him praise, to fly skyward like birds.
Alas, no worthy thoughts traveled his way.
After hours passed, he knew this wasn’t his day.
As he stared at the blank page, a red ant
crawled across its empty space. Since he can’t
abide ants, thinking them a loathsome pest,
our poet did smush it dead with great zest.
He studied the red splotch the dead ant made.
All grand thoughts from his mind quickly did fade.
Ants, roaches, mice, and rats! His mind swarmed with pests.
His poetry writing became a mess.
‘Wait! Perhaps pests have some value for Man.
I might make this profound. Surely I can!
Hmmm, pests-praising poem winning me fame?
Yuck; roaches and rats would be linked with my name!’
Writing poems that win widespread acclaim --
a desire that’s set many hearts aflame,
a destiny that alludes all the rest --
is attained by only the few, the best.
I certainly admire your attempt to write poetry to strict requirements. At my age and experience, having had to meet so many school assignments as best I could for so many years, while I adhere to certain tenets of the English language, I much prefer to branch out and plow a new territory, often to the chagrin of purists. Also the reason I don't do contests or challenges this. Surprisingly, a couple of my poems have received great response.
Don't worry about writing a poem about your interacting with nasty pests. You never know what will catch the public's imagination and become the next YouTube/Twitter sensation. I recall the one where the drunk is conversing with the raven on his fence. A vile pest carrion eater if there ever was one. Somehow became one of the most famous poems of all time.
“The woman or man who is a poet, or fiction writer, or playwright, or all of these, is engaged constantly in a jazz ballet of vocabularies, passions, genders, histories, perspectives, death, love, and life. The music of revelation announces itself to
This book represents a thirty-day period of my poetry journal. Each poem addresses
the dominant thoughts occupying my mind during the early morning hours of a given
day.
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Don't worry about writing a poem about your interacting with nasty pests. You never know what will catch the public's imagination and become the next YouTube/Twitter sensation. I recall the one where the drunk is conversing with the raven on his fence. A vile pest carrion eater if there ever was one. Somehow became one of the most famous poems of all time.
Ron