Day One: A month of poetry for Brighid

The First Offering

I’ve writ iambic meters and rough prose,

Used metaphors, alliteration, rhyme,

Made swaths of formless dialogue and speech

And now I seek to pin one word to another

But words cramp up and muddle, sluggishly.

They clump like sludge and flow not readily,

Or else come out in stutters, tripping on the threshold of my mind.

Time and again I put my pen to page.

Time and again I wrestle with my mind.

Each thing I write reminds me of another,

Or clouds me with a haze of recollection

So that each phrase rings hollow—overdone,

But I have pledged myself to honor you

Each day this month with words that are my own,

And so I offer such words as I have

To please you in what measure that I can.