Annual Options

[Guest_PashernatePoet_*]

EDIT 1 26/9/05

Annual

When roads are worked to a stage
Where they lose the point of taking me
Between where I haven't reached
And where I am tired of seeing,
I write a poem.

Or rather, a stanza worms its way
Up to me, yearly, without teeth
But toying with speech and the idea
Of grammar, sometimes metre and rhyme,
To charm your smiles.

And just as quickly, once its written,
The muse goes to sleep for another
365 days, give or take, until it seems
She was beheaded one week behind
The stacks of papers.

So it goes, I have exactly nineteen
Steps through verse set down by hand,
With each containing the words;
'If this happens to be the last, know that
I wrote, as well'.

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Annual

When roads are worked to a stage
Where they lose the point of taking me
Between where I haven't reached
And where I am tired of seeing,
I write a poem.

Or rather, a stanza worms its way
Up to me, yearly, without teeth
But toying with speech and the idea
Of grammar, even metre and rhyme,
Though rarely so much.

And just as quickly, once its written,
The muse is gone to sleep for another
365 days, give or take, until it seems
She was beheaded one week behind
The stacks of papers.

So it goes, I have exactly nineteen
Steps through verse set down by hand,
And each one contains the words;
'If this happens to be the last, know that
I wrote, as well'.

----------------------------------------------------

Notes: The tone here is similar to other poems I've put on this forum, so I am concerned the voice is wearing thin. Let me know if there's anything to be gained from altering the energy behind the poem, or anything else really.

[Guest_Cathy_*]

Hi Liam,

Great poem!  I'm not sure I get the full meaning but I'm working
on it!

Suggestions that you may use or lose: {omit}[add]

When roads are worked to a stage
Where they lose the point of taking me
Between where I haven't reached
And where I am tired of seeing,
I write a poem.  I like this!  Fed up and don't know where to turn ...
I love the phrasing.

Or rather, a stanza worms its way
Up to me, yearly, without teeth
But toying with speech and the idea
Of grammar, {even}[sometimes] metre and rhyme,
[I add the bite.]{Though rarely so much.}

{And} [J]ust as quickly, once its written,
The muse {is gone}[goes] to sleep for another
365 days, [approximately]{give or take,} until it seems
She was beheaded one week behind
The stacks of papers. Oooh gory!

So it goes, I have exactly nineteen
Steps through verse set down by hand,
{And} each one contains the words;
'If this happens to be the last, know that
I wrote, as well'.

When roads are worked to a stage
Where they lose the point of taking me
Between where I haven't reached
And where I am tired of seeing,
I write a poem.

Or rather, a stanza worms its way
Up to me, yearly, without teeth
But toying with speech and the idea
Of grammar, sometimes metre and rhyme,
I add the bite.

Just as quickly, once its written,
The muse goes to sleep for another
365 days, approximately, until it seems
She was beheaded one week behind
The stacks of papers.

So it goes, I have exactly nineteen
Steps through verse set down by hand,
each one contains the words;
'If this happens to be the last, know that
I wrote, as well'.