I was sick and tired of writing poems about people, places and things
I wanted to come out with something that seemed a little different
Something with no rules, no such rhyme, or for want of a better term no such crutches
So I took a look at all of the abstract paintings people had done
And I could finally see what they were doing
They too had grown bored with their art
Bored with the mundane way of things
So, through their abstraction – I like to call it – from the rooftops they would sing
I didn’t get it before but I do now
Edvard munch could paint ‘proper’ paintings
But this is what eventually appealed to him
A way of bringing people closer together
Of letting them in
You see I definitely want, no, need the recognition
But I also know that poetry is a dying art all of its own
That seems to be searching high and low for a place to call home
I’m no ground-breaker, earth-shaker
Just want to write what I know
And right this minute that isn’t too much
Besides, I don’t need the crutch, my OCD my forever-crutch
For the time being anyway
So there are going to be no perfectly formed lines, perfectly sentenced… sentences
No attention to detail, heady worry about my lines being stereotypically derailed
Because I can’t afford to do it
Here I sit and it’s all about going by my gut instinct
‘Til I feel just fine
I don’t know
Maybe there’s a long and endless line of abstraction to come
I hope so
‘Cos with all of the needless rhyme I am wholeheartedly done