What craziness has befallen me?

I sit and concoct, I think in blocks.

I have  some random thought

and try to think in rhyme.

Where did this come from.

abab ccdd. Where was I when this was taught?

Certainly not paying enough attention.

While driving, I have a thought.

Where’s a pen?

I won’t remember that perfect, tidy gem.

I certainly hope those blessed with verse,

have the sometimes writer’s block.

Because I suffer it from the outset.

Sorting all these seams, currents and rapids

of how the words are suppose to flow.

Nothing smooth in my flow, boulders abound.

Did Sandburg, Whitman and Wordsworth imbibe

to so well inscribe upon our minds.

Perhaps a glass of vino

would help the words flow.    

No, it isn’t so.