The Iambic well is a writer’s Hell
It has captured many a poet
And often those not on their toes
Fall in before they know it

Through forty years of smiles and tears
I’ve struggled to avoid it
I’ve danced around that killing ground
Which only just annoyed it

So it sent out a water spout
That grabbed me by the ankle
I fought it off and lived to scoff
Which caused that well to rankle

I got away but to this day
I find my lines Iambic
It’s such a shame my verse is lame
I’d hoped it would be tantric.
ljm

Before the gate has been closed,
before the last question is posed,
before I am transposed.
Before the weeds fill the gardens,
before there are no pardons,
before the concrete hardens.
Before all the flute-holes are covered,
before things are locked in then cupboard,
before the rules are discovered.
Before the conclusion is planned,
before God closes his hand,
before we have nowhere to stand.

They say “I love you,”
They say “I care,”
“I’ll never leave you
I promise, I swear.”
But time passes
And promises fade,
The love is lost
You’ve been betrayed,
They left, they’re gone
Just memories remain
Playing on repeat,
Can’t ease this pain.
Fell for the soulless,
The one with no heart,
The devil was once an angel
And heaven and hell aren’t far apart.