They stared their eyes a hollow glow
‘It doesn’t even rhyme you know”
I know, I say
It doesn’t have to.
That’s why it’s poetry.
“Well this is crap” they say
And throw the paper on the desk
“Anyone could write this drivel
No rhyme? What were you thinking?
And besides, it’s far too cryptic,
No-one’s ever going to get it.
Why don’t you just forget it?”
But
I stammer
But you see
It really means something to me
And I thought that if I wrote it
That somebody would get it
And maybe they would understand
And like it
“But it’s crap.”
I sigh and draw a line
From top to bottom to be sure
That the offensive stuff is gone and dead
And I begin to write once more.
The glowing yellow eyes
Watch and  warn me when the words
don’t rhyme
Or when the timings off
“You need a pattern
Don’t you know?
Work it out you silly girl
So that we can read something fine
Something to mull over with wine.
Have conversations on the lawn
About the 2nd stanza.”
Hold me closer tiny dancer?
“Well it rhymes” they say
“but it’s been done,
Try something new for once
AND MAKE SURE THAT IT RHYMES”
So the first part that I write
Flows smoothly for a while
And all the lines rhyme nicely
In an A B C B style.
But then it goes all wrong
“It’s crap again” they say
And throw the paper on the desk.
I feel a boiling in my eyes
And cryptics stammer on sure footed lines
And explode on the lawn from too much wine
I can’t take it any more! I scream
And slam the door
I grab my pen and break the nib
The useless fountain won’t erupt
In useless bursts
That don’t even rhyme.
Whoever heard of such a thing?
But still the poem in my head
With ill timed ends and
Mismatched verse
Keeps writing itself line by line
Without the dying need to rhyme
Or be discussed by clever folk
Who know it all
(and could do it twice as well as you,
With only half the effort too)
It writes itself to make me smile
And nothing more.