‘Oh, poet dear, where did you find your art?’
But I can’t say I ever looked for it
Should I have lost it before I could start
To write words in lines that may rhyme a bit
This writing in verse is often a curse
Sometimes restricting what I want to say
To rhyme or not, prose or even free verse
And worse, the muse says I can’t write today
If I can’t choose when the words stop and go
Inspiration comes only now and then
Is it art if the ink begins to flow
Or maybe I speak in these lines of ten
© JG Farmer 2017
Form: Quatrains
About the Jez of It 