The Life of a Writer

The Life of a Writer

Three hours on a single word;

                A week on a line.

Then I remove the word

                And I’m left with nine.

A month and I’ve written a verse

                With syllables that rhyme.

But the meter is hopeless

                The structure just a crime.

A season has come and gone.

                The poem is now born.

I put that word back in

                To find it reads like corn.

I put the poem to one side.

                Read again – it’s dire!

I take that word back out again.

                Then toss it on the fire.

Opher 13.11.2023

I’m always reminded of Paul Simon’s words in his song ‘Homeward Bound’ – ‘All my words come back to me in shades of mediocrity’.

Words are tricky things. They have nuances that change when you juxtapose them with others. They wriggle into different meanings. Their sounds jar.

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