Oh Dear



Oh dear.


Oh dear. Oh dear. They are tumbling out.

In the face of this army, I frightfully rout.


Yet running straight into their arms I pout.

I wield my pen and start flailing about.


Grabbing word after word as if fishing for trout

In hopes that a poem eventually will sprout.


I cannot outrun them, caught by their hook and line.

I set them before me—a meal of rhythm and rhyme.


I must like it, this yearly assault.

For I succumb more easily each time.





Well. It’s happening again. This past week, everywhere I went, on my walks, in the car, words in my head. Oi! So I sat down to write them this morning, in the quiet and slowness of this Saturday. I’m thankful for Saturdays like this. They are rare. But it allows me to finally get down on paper the things that have been banging around in my head. Do you have this happen to you?

So. Four of them tumbled out. Just for fun, I’ll share them with you here, one at a time. I do not, would not, could not ever consider myself a poet. I think of them as strokes of paint on a page, sketches, dashed off, haphazard, and unpolished. Just for fun!

If you’re interested, there are other so-called poems of mine here in a category titled Poetry. Scroll through them to read other times when rhyming words assail me. It seems to be around the fall/winter of each year. Oh dear.:)

0 thoughts on “Oh Dear

  1. freebirdsings says:

    Okay you aren’t Robert Frost but you ARE a poet. I can’t come up with what you do nor am I drawn to try very often – sometimes, just not often. What makes a poet? One who rhymes? But there are poets who don’t rhyme. One who is famous for there poetry? Okay, that would make you a poet but not being famous doesn’t NOT make you a poet. Go fly your kite Genevieve even it is only a fun or occasional flying with this kite amongst all the ones you have!

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