By Christine A. Thompson
I’m a good writer, so I’ve been told,
Except for the grammar it has such a hold.
Four times, I edit, maybe a fifth
Striving for perfection which never is birthed.
Expand my horizons, deep is the desire,
To stay as I am is such a tire.
Wandering and searching for many an answer,
Fancy a class, is there a taker?
Off to the college to find an addiction,
Only to gain much internal friction.
The novel is good, the essay is great,
But poetry, Oh the heart ache.
I vex and struggle some more,
Hoping one day to finally soar.
Writing like Frost, Oliver and Meiner,
What could be more finer?
Syllables, meter and rhyme oh what game,
Poet is not part of my name.
So, struggle, and puzzle, and shuffle away,
Maybe one day a page will appear unfrayed.
Happening at SPC
1February 18, 2019
2February 18, 2019
3February 18, 2019
5February 4, 2019
6January 30, 2019