Motion in Poetry

Brass cogs and ungreased gears,
Grind and groan,
Powerful pistons and silver shafts,
Misfire and moan,
In an attempt to manufacture an idea.  

The squirrel leaps off the wheel,
And runs through the mind,
Scurrying into dark corners,
Desperate to find,
The perfect phrase in a nutshell.  

A volcano comes to life,
In the center of the brain,
Long docile and dormant,
Awakened by primal pain.
It spews molten words that melt gray matter.  

Memories and musings,
Stretch, knot, bend,   
Twist, writhe, undulate,
To the verge they may rend,
Trying to contort themselves into a rhyme.

55 thoughts on “Motion in Poetry

  1. Rae Cobbs

    Nice poem! I have been letting rhyme just happen, letting loose of meter and schemes, and it feels like a straw hat, ice cream, and bowtie on a breezy summer day!

    Reply
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