Empirical
Ballad
by
Gill Baconnier
Email: gill.baconnier@laposte.net
I wanted to be a poet,
So I got a book and wouldn’t
you know it!
It looked very hard
To get to be a good bard,
But I had a go and this is
what I’ve got to show for it.
I read about scan, and iambic
pen-
tameter, so I had a go at
wri-
ting a Shakespearian sonnet
but when
my syllables got too stressed,
up gave I.
Rhyme was next. It was very
difficult
To make any sense, a bit
like a catapult.
Arduous adjectives, alliteration,
Drove me to drivel in dire
desperation.
Perhaps a Haiku:
Words dripping onto paper,
Tears for the unborn.
My head aches, and a drowsy
numbness pains
My wrist. I think I need
a nice, stiff drink,
This poem lark has only dulled
my brains -
One minute more, and I’d
have cracked, I think.
Those arty folk can keep
their villanelles -
There’s poetry enough in
turquoise skies,
In autumn rain, in mossy
forest glades;
While in my heart a ballad
swells,
For there’s a sonnet in your
lovely eyes,
And on your lips a thousand
serenades.
