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Anti Poem
I don’t feel like writing poems today.
I have nothing profound, nor deep to say.
There’s nothing inspiring, nor wise to tell,
In a stanza, sonnet, or villanelle.
Weary of trying to fit, hand in glove,
Some words of wisdom, whimsy, pain, or love.
To waste the hours of the day and the night,
I don’t want to have to take time to write.
There’s no lofty ideals to be inscribed,
No metered images to be described,
To give substance to parts of a dream.
No word usage for clever rhyming scheme,
With blank, or free verse infatuation;
No concern for proper punctuation.
There’s simply no care for iambs to mount,
No interest, in the syllable count.
Sometimes it seems to be so demented,
Figuring out how words are accented.
There’s no wish to find the parameter,
To write verse in perfect pentameter.
To write a poem today is too hard,
I’ll simply have to delay, I’m no Bard.
I’m not going to shed one single tear,
After all, everyone can’t be Shakespeare.
Though I’ve studied poetry until I knew it,
I refuse to write . . . not going to do it.
I loathe the idea of taking the time,
To contort verses, in order to rhyme.
I’ve read some great poets, just to know ‘em,
But, today, I just don’t want to, write a poem
