Dilemma

Here's something from the archives. This poem was composed when I was in eighth. If you think that you have read these lines somewhere before, you're right. This poem derived heavily from the poems in our English syllabus. Stopping by the woods on a winter evening - Robert Frost, The Muddlehead - ?, some other poems were all parodied.

‘It was a dark, stormy night.
Sitting near the fireplace provided great delight.’

So began the poem of mine,
About a boy who was nine

The poem was a compulsion, not a hobby
For a competition on creative poetry

I had a writer’s block; I knew not what to write
One can easily imagine the horror of my plight.
I could turn to no one for advice,
My condition; it seemed; was worse than mice.

I tried writing a poem full of humour
But it seemed to move from dumb to dumber.
Writing horror was my next try,
But it could only make the critics cry.

I circed the circ and looped the loop;
But what I wrote was just like soup.
All muddled, it had no head or tail,
In writing a poem, I did miserably fail

I have decided to write a poem
On the dilemma I was in
Thankfully this time it was not thrown
Into the garbage bin

On the first prize is my sight,
So I am writing this poem
So late into the night

The bed is cozy, warm and neat,
But I have homework to complete,

And a poem to write before I sleep
And a poem to write before I sleep