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An open book, A feathered pen. An inkwell? No, a vein instead. ***A spider crawled across my page: Just look at all the mess it made!*** Words in rows of Fullstop beat, Iambic hearts and Couplet feet Pursued my pen with stately rage: They chased it straight across the page! But now their quarry's quit and done, they Slouch off sulking, one by one. The brave remain, by choice or chance: Words in rows to turn and dance! ***Crumpled words and jumbled wire Catch askance and ****** afire-- Burst in terse and tumbled flame, Cursed, my verses burn today. Burst in terse and tumbled flame, Verses never heard again Return their words, inert and tame. Cursed, my verses burn today.***
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Oct 26, 2016
Oct 26, 2016 at 11:48 AM UTC
Four short poems on writing
An open book, A feathered pen. An inkwell? No, a vein instead. ***A spider crawled across my page: Just look at all the mess it made!*** Words in rows of Fullstop beat, Iambic hearts and Couplet feet Pursued my pen with stately rage: They chased it straight across the page! But now their quarry's quit and done, they Slouch off sulking, one by one. The brave remain, by choice or chance: Words in rows to turn and dance! ***Crumpled words and jumbled wire Catch askance and ****** afire-- Burst in terse and tumbled flame, Cursed, my verses burn today. Burst in terse and tumbled flame, Verses never heard again Return their words, inert and tame. Cursed, my verses burn today.***
andrew-lees
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Oct 26, 2016
Oct 26, 2016 at 11:48 AM UTC
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