LE MOT JUSTE
As I sit with pen in hand
Considering what my muse demands,
Oft an idea comes to mind;
So many thoughts are inter-twined.
First a ruling I must make,
What form shall my poem take?
Rondeau, ode, or Villanelle,
Sonnet, haiku, kyrielle?
I’m excited, I am ready,
I’m inspired, feeling heady.
Ah, when the mot juste does occur,
How joyously my line will purr.
But then my thoughts will always turn
To all those words which I shall spurn.
Those rhymes which never quite will fit,
And where those phrases should be split
Have I spelt that word correctly?
I must check it out directly.
Then the punctuation too;
Comma or colon? Wish I knew.
Capitals to start each line?
Will they add to my design?
Perhaps it’ll prove less nondescript
If I centre all the script.
Can I improve the way it flows?
Better check that I suppose.
Then, of course, must choose a title,
That indeed will be most vital.
Decisions made, about to publish.
Please don’t tell me it’s all RUBBISH.