Preaching to the Mirror, Perhaps?

Posted for a variety of prompts:

Easy Street Prompts (“and then …”

Meme Express (“peculiar people”)

Simply Snickers (“sleep,” “sorry” and “sweet”)

Sunday Scribblings (“organic”)

That’s My Answer (“I Don’t Really Think I Can Manage . . . Today”)

Weekend Wordsmith (“pens”)

Word-Filled Wednesday (“rest”)

Writer’s Island (“Just Around the Corner”)

Preaching to the Mirror, Perhaps?

Inklings –

A Limericked Tear on a Poetry Rare

Mere ink on a page does not poetry make,

Though often we offer the self-same mistake.

In free verse or rhyme,

Our two cents will chime,

Unless we more effort and energy take.

 

So sorry indeed are the jottings so cheap,

Organic, but trite, scrawled while drifting to sleep –

Sweet longings confessed

But still not expressed,

Peculiar people and pens reaching deep.

 

We claim, “I can’t manage the verse. It’s too hard.”

But just ‘round the corner, a muse stands on guard.

The poet, distraught,

Then catches true thought,

While some of us settle to mimic the Bard.

 

We pray inspiration may blind us with light,

That inklings may overflow to our delight.

Poetic to wax,

We dare not relax,

But rewrite and edit with all of our might.

 

Fine wordsmithing builds in the depths of the heart,

As words coalesce into musical art.

With rhythm and poise,

So much more than noise,

A true poet beauty may ever impart.

 

Please take no offense by these barbs, if you will;

We preach to the mirror with homily shrill.

The longing of lore,

Creative rapport

Does drive us to dare require more of the quill.

 c2009 by Linda Ann Nickerson