I sit before the keyboard, fingers straining, wondering why.
Why the sweat? Why the guts that clutch
And twist?
What’s so hard?
Free verse. The sound of liberation that I shrink from,
Hiding my head beneath a quip or pun.
“What would you do if you weren’t afraid?”
Would you be free?
Give me rhyme, that the tunes and tones of words will be the mark
I need to hit.
Give me meter, marching to the margin as I write,
So they can sing it.
Give me prose, an action scene or two,
To carry through.
I don’t want freedom, though I would choose
To have the chains be long, and loose,
And light.
I view the words I write, sans rhyme or structure,
Each line a fragile piece of art, viewed bemused by critics.
“The presumption! He must be mad,
Or ego-filled the size of Baltimore.”
A teacher laughs and points and chatters of Narcissus.
Free verse. But freedom means that I must be responsible,
And every word must be the right one, not for form or tone,
But for the feeling, mood, experience.
And when I’m done, then I must sit and smile,
And say, “Hey, look what I have done.”
And feign that every word is right,
Every feeling strong and bold and vivid,
Every picture painted, sculpted, touched with care and craft.
A pretence that it’s more than pretentious crap.
I dare not eat that peach,
Those mermaids do not sing to me.
I sit before the keyboard,
Look at words on the screen, soft phosphors in pleasant colors,
And writhe.
They make it look simple, those others.
Words strung along, offered just for joy
Of writing.
The letters dance, the pictures glow,
The feelings build and crash and tease.
So simple.
Good stuff. Good stuff. I wish I could.
Which is why I sit here.
Nodding to the soft and constant hum that echoes through my head,
Muffling thoughts,
Making me safe and armored and removed.
So I will talk about it, bare my soul, raise a smile,
Blog an inch or eight.
I can write a post. I will!
Or maybe —
Maybe —
Write a poem.
Let the words of free verse flow from fingertips that sweat.
Therapeutic, perhaps, or bold,
Or just a silly thought,
Or ego.
And so I sit.
And click on Save.
Go Dave!
🙂