Le Mot Juste

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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.