Published on: 11/11/2013
Versification

I wish that I could make disloyal words perform
My bidding. When I put them into verse
I never find the terms I need.
Instead, I build up, piece by piece,
Some rhythmic prose, with no real worth
(Other than as a metaphor for madness.)

This decline, slow and wretched, into madness
Began while I was still at school. In Form
2B I'd chew my pen and strive to prove my worth.
My quest to find poetic words for verse
Denied my fledgling mind a moment's peace.
I turned to a thesaurus in my hour of need

And substituted crave or yearn to stand for need.
Derangement and insanity replaced my prior madness.
I sensed the jigsaw taking shape, piece by tiny piece.
And gradually, my friend, I made those words conform.
They toed the line! My prosody, its origins diverse,
Had a renaissance. Thus Roget's toil evinced its worth.

I had at my disposal words that Wordsworth
Never dreamed of—far more than I could ever use (or need).
Alas, entombed within my sonnets, villanelles and comic verse
I realised I had swapped my youthful madness
For an obsession with Sudoku, in the form
Of syllables. The harsh truth was revealed. I had no peace.

So, how did I attain the lasting peace
Which I sought after? For what it's worth
I'll tell you how, and why. But firstly, I'll inform
You of precisely what you'll need
If you're to curb the march of madness,
And force its monstrous army to reverse.

When William Shakespeare wrote heroic verse,
He insisted on the right to work in peace.
To write without sweet solitude is madness.
So cogitate, don't ever rush, it's worth
Taking the time to play; to knead
Your stanza's content, and reflect it within form.

Though perfect verse is surely worth
The time spent on each piece, true genius may need
To vie with madness in some form.