The Morgue Of Once-Promising Poetry Poem by Seamus O' Brian

Doffing my top hat and waving
dynamically with a touch
of doubtfully reluctant optimism,
I stand these words up on their edge
hoping their balance and form
might elicit, if not breathless applause,
at least some nodded approval.

I goad them and harry them
plead and implore, and in return
sometimes they leap magnificently
through hoops of fire, sometimes ascend
amidst the sulfuric smoke and fire
and pageantry of linguistic fireworks,
and sometimes they just tip over on their
little Times New Roman pedestals
and lay there flat and lifeless.

I sit here, blank eyed, wondering if
I should put my lips to this wan stanza
here and try to blow some life into it,
break out some minuscule code blue
font paddles and shock some attitude
into this listless line that began
with such promise in my mind
then withered on the page…

But perhaps instead I shall send it
straight to the morgue
of once-promising poetry.