This poem came about because of frustration I felt with getting the creative juices flowing. It’s not much in and of itself, but it did help to get me writing something else.
The Caesura I cannot write a poem today, I know; It's cold outside, though sunshine's streaming in And all my saddest thoughts are round about Defeating brightness and restoring murk. There's snow, there's mud, there's water on the street, And ice, and I in short am disinclined To search for topics that would repay work Or reach for words that pictures paint when writ. My thoughts are either foggy or are blank Ideas won't come right, no matter how I stretch, condense, and weave my syllables And it's sheer foolishness to try so hard. Perhaps I need a day, perchance a week Of emptiness and not of diligence In which to rest and twist some new wry words And make my concepts fitter to put down. For note well! These few words are not a verse But show my lack and demonstrate the curse Of being tired of all the subjects terse Or long and tedious; so much the worse! © Victoria Leigh Bennett, 2/14/17