A Poet's Despair

[Spikerider]

A Poet's Despair

I sit thinking tucked into my nest.
Then the words do swiftly come.
Flying by way to fast for review.
My mind's all a flutter;
I must repeat & utter,
Where is my ink?
Where is my quill?
Where is my parchment?
I must rush before I forget.
Tension rare, for this chore I do fret.
Good grief, my mind was elsewhere!
Just in the nick of time, just barely.
My writing implements I have found!
Now, what was that first good line?
I start to pen a flock of words so fine.
Out of the blue a poem is skillfully landing.
I am pleased with what is hitting my page.
Usually my poems are just barnyard droppings.
Creation is hatching phrases to rhyme.
Accuracy must rule for a word lost a crime.
Thoughts speeds exceeds my hand so slow.
Oh, this poultry amount of stanzas
laid before me, need some fluffing up.
These rhythmic lines, the poem's seed.
Lost in the confusion foul it is indeed.
Within flying verses & words a rhyming
I got winged upside my daft old head.
This poor old poet once so cocky,
but time long has made me a nincompoop,
My poem flew from my brain, this drafty coop.

[Truerenigma]

This may work as a series of limericks. I'll come back to it.

---

Okay, poems about writing poems, well it's tough, even if you're John Keats musing on the challenges of romantic poetry. But your main problem here is that it's just an awkward contorting of the English Language. Look at the syntax in your first line: are you thinking " I'm tucked into my nest?"

You may want to start out in novice or mild. I don't want to go through the whole thing and pick at you overmuch.

What's "Accuracy must rule for a word lost a crime"?

Welcome though, and I'm glad you're here. The poem does have a refreshing sense of humor.

[tectak]

A Poet's Despair

I sit thinking tucked into my nest.
Then the words do swiftly come.
Flying by way to fast for review.
My mind's all a flutter;
I must repeat & utter,
Where is my ink?
Where is my quill?
Where is my parchment?
I must rush before I forget.
Tension rare, for this chore I do fret.
Good grief, my mind was elsewhere!
Just in the nick of time, just barely.
My writing implements I have found!
Now, what was that first good line?
I start to pen a flock of words so fine.
Out of the blue a poem is skillfully landing.
I am pleased with what is hitting my page.
Usually my poems are just barnyard droppings.
Creation is hatching phrases to rhyme.
Accuracy must rule for a word lost a crime.
Thoughts speeds exceeds my hand so slow.
Oh, this poultry amount of stanzas
laid before me, need some fluffing up.
These rhythmic lines, the poem's seed.
Lost in the confusion foul it is indeed.
Within flying verses & words a rhyming
I got winged upside my daft old head.
This poor old poet once so cocky,
but time long has made me a nincompoop,
My poem flew from my brain, this drafty coop.

Moved to mild. It was poultry what dun it though I can see your wit. The help on overall structure will be less damning than if line by line. If it languishes, get back and we'll look at it again. I would be astonished if you turned out a
Poulet Surprise
mod

[Snowbells]

Hi there;
sorry to say, your poem about a poet's dilemma doesn't quite do it for me. While it is amusing, it lacks essential "enjambments" that would serve to make lines intertwine. Yours have a choppy appearance that's caused by too many end stops, such as those abundant periods at most of your line endings. What you have created is a laundry list that could be rewritten into a decent poem about a poet's struggle. Regards,
Jerry

[Gorilla666]

Hi,
I think the idea of writing a poem about writing a poem has a lot of potential, though its not the most original one.
To make your attempt spicier you could for example change its structure according to the development of the speaker or in other words, when the speaker thinks about writing in a specific rhyme, change the rhyme structure of your poem accordingly.

You could start with a mess of words, showing the poets chaotic state after being inspired or getting an idea by using stuff like no puncuation, no rhymes, maybe even grammatical errors to symbolize his haste. Out of this you could add more and more poetry to it (at least the speakers version of it). This is just one Way to play with this Kind of Poem.

Greets,
Gorillus

[OrganicPoetTree]

A Poet's Despair

I sit thinking tucked into my nest.
Then the words do swiftly come.
Flying by way to fast for review.
My mind's all a flutter;
I must repeat & utter,
Where is my ink?
Where is my quill?
Where is my parchment?
I must rush before I forget.
Tension rare, for this chore I do fret.
Good grief, my mind was elsewhere!
Just in the nick of time, just barely.
My writing implements I have found!
Now, what was that first good line?
I start to pen a flock of words so fine.
Out of the blue a poem is skillfully landing.
I am pleased with what is hitting my page.
Usually my poems are just barnyard droppings.
Creation is hatching phrases to rhyme.
Accuracy must rule for a word lost a crime.
Thoughts speeds exceeds my hand so slow.
Oh, this poultry amount of stanzas
laid before me, need some fluffing up.
These rhythmic lines, the poem's seed.
Lost in the confusion foul it is indeed.
Within flying verses & words a rhyming
I got winged upside my daft old head.
This poor old poet once so cocky,
but time long has made me a nincompoop,
My poem flew from my brain, this drafty coop.

I enjoy the humor and that you are comfortable expressing what seems to me your own progression and that you know you're abilities are increasing. There is nothing negative to say about someone who is honest with what they are capable of and still trying to get better. It's notation trying to rid itself of empty thought so the thoughts can evolve into something more permanent and suitable not necessarily for the reader but for the writer. Good for you to put it out there.