When a Poet Cannot Pen
There is a probable cause.
For me, I give myself no pause.
Just like a dancer wants applause.
I tell myself "just because!"
I fail to eat, sleep or drink.
Then ponder,why I cannot think.
I feel anything but in the pink.
I just want to put my head in a sink.
I really do get very down
When trying to be the Poet-Clown
I do get morose and down
Tis no way to shine as a crown
There is nothing wrong with using rhyme!
Some don't like it but rhyme for centuries
is not a crime.
It happens to be a cherished, favorite friend
of mine!
I happen to think in rhyme, most all the time.
Some like excellent itsy-bitsy poems.
They are sweet but not my home.
In poetic forms, I do love the roam.
As if running with bare feet, in the fresh sea foam.
There are poems of mine, as children to me,
And oh, when they are ignored, I do see!
I cry to them, to wait for me.
Such is my poetic, daily, eternity!
August 25, 2020
6pm PST
Copyright © Panagiota Romios | Year Posted 2020
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
Please
Login
to post a comment