poem: A Young Minotaur Learning to Rhyme

"You can always learn to rhyme well later but, unless you have that compulsive pleasure in consonant sound, to the point of nonsense, you'll never be a poet."

-Gwyneth Lewis, poet, person who has experienced depression, and author of Sunbathing in the Rain: A Cheerful Book About Depression.

A Young Minotaur Learning to Rhyme

Compelled composing compulsive
pleasure
in the slide of pen across paper
ink lubricator
and in the sight I hear
      in the sound I read

What I write is meant to be heard and seen
The true ink blue poem
is the one in my own hand
                in the back of a notebook ragged with ripped-out pages
                in my own voice.

It's a near thing,
the one in black and white on your computer screen,
typo-ed,
but not what I wrote,
not the thing of intimacy
paper, pen, and (dare I?) poet

And here
And here
And here
it is

scatter cry lowly crop
appetite quiver stop
crinkle down the flying shop
brickstone sun shining drop

And I never thought I could rhyme
And I always thought I had no ear for metre
Just goes to show
how little I know