Something profound by Faymarie Morris


Something profound by Faymarie Morris

 Sometimes a poem just seems to arrive.

Sometimes it gets dragged from your psyche

and chews at your insides, driving you mad,

like a bad dream that visits nightly.

Why do I put myself through this torment

sitting for hours in front of a screen,

struggling to find a more meaningful word?

Something profound, instead of just green.

 

How did they manage, those poets of old

with quill pens and rough sheets of paper,

scratching away in some garret or shed,

to create something worthy of favour?

I suppose that was all they had to do,

those offspring of the social elite.

But their talent, foresight and use of words,

were absolute, and still hard to beat.

 

So, why do I write the same kind of stuff

that I store in the depths of my brain,

then churn out in similar ways, each time?

The same format, again and again.

Will I ever write something of value,

something forceful or significant?

A sonnet, haiku or lyrical ode

that a reader might find eloquent?

 

But I’m not the one writing the poem,

it’s the poem that’s writing itself.

It waits in the darkness beside my desk,

a fanciful muse or irksome elf.

And whenever I feel like giving up,

because nothing I write seems to fit,

I remember something Tennyson wrote

about poets needing a fruitful wit…

 By Faymarie Morris

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2 thoughts on “Something profound by Faymarie Morris

  1. Just as you say in your book Faymarie, its a “Subtle kind of Torture”.
    Many of the poems in your book are forceful and significant, this one is no exception.
    Well done!

  2. Well done,
    sometimes words just flow
    although not in the correct order
    sometimes its just reading it slow
    making sense of a tumbled disorder.

    Once again Well done

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