A poem on a turbulent mind
I get the urge to write.
Anything, so long as it’s written.
The subjects flit through my mind
Like leaves on an Autumn wind.
The tree is now bare.
The urge is gone..
Bliss!
Head Rambles
A sideways look at life by an Irish Grandad
“The urge is gone”
I know the feeling. I had the urge to snap my fingers repeatedly at this, but it suddenly passed.
Now try to re-write it as a haiku. It already has the feel of one.
I could never quite understand the haiku. I can understand limericks and maybe even sonnets but when you have to start worrying about syllables, it gets a tad complex…
Don’t mope, Bonio, it’s a pome
Ritten on a subway wall