Swinging Bridge

Once upon a morning dreary,
As I pounded my keyboard, weary
Over some poem with which I was bored,
Slowly sipping, my coffee cooling,
Thinking to end a stanza unruly,
I dropped a participial upon the floor.
Oh, ‘tis nothing, sugar rushing,
‘Tis a mistake and nothing more.

Still I continued with my tapping,
Unceasingly typing, my work unraveling,
Using comma after comma evermore.
Now my brain whirling with my writing,
Adjectives dazzling, so inviting,
Tapping tapping at my keyboard,
My editor crying “Nevermore!”

The sun now moved upon my window,
Silhouetting a stately willow,
Creating in my memory stored,
A lust for wordiness galore.
Still I was tapping, my mind unscrambling,
Quelling spelling evermore.
Quoth my editor “Nevermore!”

Unmoved, I continued with my tapping,
Tapping until my fingers sore,
Thrilled me with their swift endeavors,
Using clichés evermore.
Faster, faster, typing now,
Sweat upon my fevered brow,
Ending sentences with prepositions evermore,
Quoth my editor, “Nevermore!”

And my editor, never flinching,
Sits at her computer convincing,
That I am doomed in grammar evermore.
As I tap tap out my sentences,
Semicolons and commas inventive,
My editor shall trust me nevermore.


Excerpt from Swinging Bridge