I have been writing poetry for as long as I can remember. When I was eight our school had a poetry competition and I won! My last great literary success! I wrote a lot of truly bad poetry in my teenage years, all of which I subsequently burned! But I thought I’d bore/entertain you with one of my efforts. This is a classic Shakespearian sonnet (in form, rather than in quality, unfortunately!).
I sit here waiting for the muse to rise
But my mind stays blank as any canvass
Yet unpainted. It comes as no surprise
That epic dreams and visions do not pass
Across the dusty deserts of my brain.
An effort must be made to make life flow;
Without useful toil nothing can be gained.
If you desire to make your garden grow
Then water and hard work must be applied.
Inspiration does not strike as lightning,
Nor fall like rain as manna from on high;
Without exertion gifts come to nothing.
We all desire to write from our own hearts
But in the crafting; that is the real art.