Poet's block: a poem in heroic couplets

(This was written in response to a challenge to write a poem in heroic couplets)

Poet’s Block

I stare and stare at sheet of paper, blank

Reflecting that there’s no-one else to thank

Than my good self for giving us this task.

Would it have been too much for me to ask

The friendly folk comprising New Bold Words

To write a piece on buffaloes or birds?

A story that begins, proceeds then ends -

A tale that sets off jauntily and wends

Through pleasant scenes of jollity or love

That feature blessings falling from above -

Maybe, or should a darker theme be sought,

Something that tells of evil persons caught 

In webs that they have woven for themselves.

But snares arise for anyone who delves

Into the world wherein the poet acts

And clouds his fancies, fabliaux and facts

In lines of verse where metre rules supreme

And words must flow according to a scheme

Imposed by wordsmiths in some far-off time

That instruct strictly where must fall the rhyme.

On such occasions brain cells run amuck

And this indeed was where I came unstuck.

One of my roles as leader of this group

Includes suggesting some intriguing hoop

Through which we all, in the ensuing week

Will try to jump, and then arrive to speak

When next we meet, seven days further on,

And each reads out their deathless paragon.

Of course, yours truly has but little choice

Than boldly to join in and lend his voice

In reading out his poetry or prose

And taking praise or brickbats, one of those,

Should his week’s effort meet the bill or not -

No guarantee I’ll always hit the spot.

But this week look at what I’ve gone and done

Said something daft that ruined all the fun.

This guy who reckons he’s quite a thinker

Has come up with an absolute stinker.

“A poem”, he said, with abandon gay

“In couplets heroic, although you may

Write on whatever it is you desire.

We will read them all next week, good or dire.”

So now I must do the task that was set -

No way can I dodge the bullet and let

The side down and fail to do my duty -

Time to produce an object of beauty.

Or, if not that good, at least let the lines

Follow the rulings, the forms and designs

Laid down for this type of poetic verse

If I’m breaking the rules, what could be worse?

But what on God’s earth will furnish my theme?

Can’t think of a thing, prepare for a scream.

Brain circling in ways that look all the more

Like Max performing a test on the floor.

Back in the day, Pope, Lord Byron and friends

Wrote screeds of this stuff, it just never ends.

Did they ever ask, “What now shall I write?”

Was this doubt what kept them up half the night?

No way, which is why I have to admit

This week, I regret, the biter is bit.  

No topic to write on comes to my mind

That’s why the challenge this time is declined.

And that, my dear friends, is all I can say.

I’ll put down my pen and just slip away.

© John Welford