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Poem

I entered a little contest on the soup
Where entries were judged according to
Merit and favor and everything good
With a judge who knows poetry as they should

My entry was scribbled on the back of a card
Then written on paper in the form of a poem
Soon I came to the computer’s word processor
And wrote it all down with dashes and a formula

The words came to me through my hopes and ideas
Dreams that did soothe me with a muse that bleeds
Through insights and feelings that prompt me to see
Hues of rich scarlet and gracefully intimate scenes

Soon the words beckoned me with their ideas
To listen to the deliberation of rhymes and rhythms
Signaling delights that fought to be in sentences
That formed stanzas broken only by delightful couplets

I welcomed the verses so enchanting and fulfilling
Calling out to me through the flow of lines and sections
Causing me to see that both poetry and prose belong
To the writer who listens to the call within their soul

Would the judge of my poem see the light it illuminated
Or would they be drawn to the sentences that appeased
The disillusionment and discouragement that flowed inside
The pen who lost sight of the demands that it should win

Clutching at straws, I hoped for a wonderful victory
With the liquid ebony that milks adjectives and adverbs
From the rich prayers that drain through my heart’s veins
Soothing and blessing my aspirations with inspirations








Clutching at Straws Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Kai Michael Neumann
September 19, 2020

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