I Sit Down (to write a poem). #SoC

The Cheesewring (to the centre)

So, I sit down

to write a poem;

but, what do I write about?

I have no idea.

So far this has been prose;

and prose is just words upon a page,

meaning nothing

signifying little;

perhaps a sign of the age.

Prose, written by a novelist;

he has a novel idea,

he writes it down;

and he doesn’t have a bike –

which is a joke, if you like –

“No, vello!”

unless he’s French –

“Non Vello!”

which, probably, doesn’t make sense,

even if you are French;

and is even less likely to,

if you are not –

like what I am.

So, ‘poetry’ what do I do?

I haven’t a clue.

Have you?

No?

I thought not.

Left to my own devices

I probably would

write a poem;

which is the situation

that I find myself in now.

And, how do I go about

this

thing?

This writing of poems?

Of poetry?

Any help?

No?

None from you.

I wasn’t expecting any;

I’ve asked many;

but few even respond;

it’s above and beyond

most people

to understand

a poem;

and, especially one like this

which isn’t really a poem;

but, is – if you know what I mean;

if you are one of the few.

Are you?

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