My Poetry Garden

My poetry garden of late has lain untended and forlorn. I succumbed to shock and dismay upon entering recently, for I observed that great disagreement had erupted and now vehemently raged among adjoining unmade weed-filled beds of subjects and verbs. Modifiers that had been dutifully arranged and carefully kept in check upon their trellises now dangled everywhere. Sentences had spilled out of their beds in fragments or running on and on while cases of subjectives and objectives shamelessly intermingled and were now easily mistaken one for another. Grammar, whose care I had entrusted to first, second and third persons, lay in shameless disarray, as if no one could tell the difference. Gerunds casually consorted with infinitives, many of which had split. I recalled with a sigh how many years it had taken me to tightly bind them. [To bind them tightly is what I meant.] Commas were everywhere, rendering those in appropriate position practically unrecognizable, which I suppose was better than what had happened to the capitals, now completely ignored. No reason for the rhyme with forms confused or misplaced altogether. My lines, unpruned, were of disparate length and hideously incompl An unfortunate mis-spell had been cast and provoked an infestation, such that many of my friends had departed without comment. The contest entry was blocked, so I bowed my head in shame, turned around and shuffled silently through the exit marked N/A. Posted July 24, 2014 'Let the Pens Flow - Narrative' Contest Jenish Somadas