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Much as I love to BS about writing poetry, the main fact about writing in form is that it’s as easy to do as playing the piano if you’ve taught yourself how to do it and practiced
for hours, days, weeks and months, for years on end,
As Shakespeare used to do. He had to tend
His garden full of words that grew and bloomed
As though he were condemned to a perfumed
Conservatory full of tangled vines
That grew a languid harvest full of wines
He squeezed onto the printer’s linen pages,
Contributing to the printer’s devils’ wages.
I could go on like this for several hours
And thus impress upon you how my powers
Over meter enable me to do
Whatever I like to do with the English lingo,
But I could likely make more loot at bingo.
I started writing these lines at close to four,
It’s now a half-hour later, not much more.
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