Jean McLeod’s poem Poison Pen appeared here as part of Contributor Series 6: A Currency of Words. More musings on muses!
The Day Nothing Came of Applying Bottom to Chair
By Jean McLeod
I have space to rent between my ears
seems I’ve sat in this chair for hours
seeking a phrase to clang or ping
to bang to make a joyful ring.
Somewhere to trace an errant thought
down a path through trembling words
into a stanza where vowels are round,
a powerful line when rhythms pound.
Please fly me a kite of metaphor
I long for a tad of ode or iamb.
On a platter, a bite of repartee
even a slice of simile
doggerel to grind to epigram
through tumbling tunnels of scuffling scan
into a riveting riff of rhyme.
No poem, today! I’m out of time!
Jean, your poetry always makes a joyful ring.
Jean, as I sit at my desk, I, too, await a clang or ping. The words to illuminate my blank page are stubborn today. Thanks for your wonderful words.
what a great description of what we can all relate to!
I love: Please fly me a kite of metaphor