These last few days I feel I've lost my touch.

Verse that flowed so easily and read

As if it had exploded from my head

To form itself in one effusive rush

Now seems banal and trite, an exercise

In form and levered rhymes, without the twitch

Of intellect or heart-felt passion which,

At best, can worm its way beyond the eyes.

Perhaps it's only passing and next week

A pearl will find its way onto the page

To pacify this stomach-churning rage

That interrupts my dreaming as I seek

To find a jewel worthy of a line

Rather than this tawdry paste of mine.

Brian Hick November 2008

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