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I like to think my verse formed close at hand,
O’er brimming in the shallows of my brain, Fast lured, quick fished, and promptly brought to land Without the least impediment or pain, Where, primed to stick its role upon demand, In seeming artlessness it takes in rein Your sensibilities, to spin its grand Impression, to my reputation’s gain. Alas for fancy! Poetry is hard, And won from my substratum bit by bit. Each verbal gem and semiprecious shard By labor long’s extracted from the pit, To take a polish all too simply marred, And setting it may well prove not to fit. |
Verse Construction
from Mortal Verses : Occasions for Poetry, 1st ed., Aug. 2026.
1st web edition posted 8/29/2026.
Published by Fleabonnet Press.
©
2019-2026 by
Brian Kunde.