|
| |
Contested Meta Poem
In front of a blank page, I sit with my pen,
Writing a poem for a contest again.
With thoughts in a tangle, I ponder and fret,
“What metaphor fits?” but none come to me yet.
I gaze at my cat, dear Sami by name,
Her eyes hold a mystery, yet nothing to claim.
“Could she be my muse?” I wonder aloud,
But my page remains blank as a lion is proud.
My room is disheveled, my thoughts just the same.
Chaos surrounds me, and I feel such shame.
The words that I seek, they elude my grasp,
In the silence, I hear my own desperate gasp.
Perhaps this contest is not meant for me,
I’m tangled in words that I struggle to see.
But here with my pen and my faithful cat's stare,
I’ll find my own way, through this poet’s despair.
I write of this struggle, this quest for a line,
In hopes that my efforts will somehow align.
My poetry’s nothing if perfection’s my goal
Here I am flawed with a true poet’s soul.
Copyright ©
Irene Hammer
|
|