Upon this cozy couch I sit. <br />It’s here the verses, I have writ <br /> <br />Flow forth from my creative grunting, <br />Some in humor, some affronting. <br /> <br />From whence the writings, I’m loath to say, <br />They’re just a lark, akin to play. <br /> <br />A pastime needing not a prod, <br />With some attempts being rather odd. <br /> <br />The spark for some, my risible striving, <br />Arrive out of the blue, from life, observing. <br /> <br />More sensitive themes come right from the heart, <br />When those true notions I seek to impart. <br /> <br />Who would fancy my meager efforts? <br />I’ll expect no applause from the experts! <br /> <br />Nor assume enchantment as they read, <br />Just reassurance, rather than impede. <br /> <br />So we’ll simply press on, my muse and me, <br />Occasionally launching out on a poetry spree. <br /> <br />Searching my brain for a pretense to write, <br />Trusting the results are not a literary blight.<br /><br />Bruce Bigelow<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/about-writing-poetry/
