679

Five attempts today

And all I get

Is naff regurgitation

Of the stuff

I've been churning out 

For twenty years,

And even now

I realise I'm caught

Within the strictures

Of iambic form

So what looks like

Free verse is nothing but

A rearrangement

In a vain attempt

To break out of

This metric stanglehold.

But who am I kidding

For I know

Iambics are the heart

Of what I write

And if occasionally

I can create

Something different

It's an accident

And any truth

Which happens to pop up

Is simply the result

Of now't but luck.

Brian Hick 2010

©copyright Sally Hick 2022