escaping from rhyme isn’t easy;
half a lifetime to work up to it
then like skirt length, that’s it,
the line’s short this season,
and rhyme is, so, like, so last year…
(and must be insincere
if you have to work at it
or even want to)
so there I was in the
midst of getting the
hang of cutting the line at the
best place for the
sense, to avoid the
artificial on the
one hand and the
banal on the
other -the
art that conceals the
art –
and scenting euphony, when suddenly –
a crash – and in there lumbered – ‘woodenly’…
I twigged instantly that it wouldn’t
go without a struggle;
and called in Suddenly for questioning –
had they some sort of pact in the recesses of my mind –
kissin’ cousins, blood brothers, partners in rhyme?
Suddenly denied this vigorously –
never been asked such a question before,
wouldn’t want to associate etc.;
a word only used by theatre critics…
So I sighed and threw out my neatly chopped prose,
spontaneity, jokes, and anything goes;
and returned to meaningful old-fashioned verse
so woodenly crafted – well, poets have done worse.