Lo, the Perfidious Muse....

It is a bad sign when I quote a... curious library patron from years and years ago. Especially when the prompt of the day was to write either a sonnet or an anti-form poem. Anti-form and all its antecedents are anathema to me. Even if I should want to write something non-metrical and free form, I cannot do it. So sonnet it was. Only... I couldn't do it. My serious attempt at a sonnet would not go anywhere. About half way through the day, I abandoned it for a sonnet on my inability to write sonnets:

On Being Unable to Write Today

I’ve chosen today to write a sonnet –

I’ve never been able to write free verse –

But though I have laboured the day upon it,

I’ve nothing to show, for better or worse

But a crumpled collection of discarded lines

‘Mid work notes, in pockets, tucked into books.

Crumpled up pieces of terrible rhymes

Mocking the task I rashly undertook.

Farewell to pride and all solemnity

Away with every pretension of skill!

Embrace instead heartfelt humility:

We are made stronger by what doesn’t kill.

                     One can only try, but though I fail

                     Still I’ll try, as long as I am able.