An empty mind can offer little aid
To craft a poem close to midnight’s stroke.
The blinking cursor on the screen displayed
Derides me typing words I then revoke.
A frantic grasp for some elusive thought
Yields nothing worth expressing in this verse,
A stream of consciousness with nothing caught,
A vague ambition I cannot coerce.
But now a starting line appears and stays;
The rhyme and meter motivate the rest;
Though not profound or likely to amaze,
It seems that something real has coalesced.
This finished work thus illustrates a crime:Attempted sonneting while pressed for time.
~ Tamary Shoemaker
(I was tempted to call this poem "Blank Verse," referring to a mind going blank, but as a former English major, I just couldn't bring myself to label it inaccurately.)