My Poem Poem by Pat Knight

They start when two words get stuck in my head.
They can be annoying it must be said.
The words are special because they do rhyme.
I jiggle and jog until each has its line.

The two lines will rattle inside my head.
They get more annoying it must be said.
A third line creeps in just for good measure.
It makes the first two more of a pleasure.

The three lines are repeating around my head.
Its hell, its frustrating it must be said.
The last line is lonely it hasn’t a rhyme.
But before I know it I have the fourth line.

The verse is now stuck in my head.
The four lines get boring it must be said.
The fifth line starts right on queue.
But the end drags on slowly eluding you.

The verse and a line are not complete in my head.
A panicky time it must be said.
The sixth line starts before I have the fifth.
Now I have two lines I’m not happy with.

The mess starts to hurt my poor little head.
I wished I never started it must be said.
But the previous lines just fall in to place.
Followed by the seventh but it’s a bit of disgrace.

The poem becomes obscure by smut in my head.
But I love this bit it must be said.
As quick as a flash the next line grows.
In a run of good luck line eight just flows.

Eight lines of the poem are proudly fixed in my head.
I think I’m William Shakespeare it has to be said.
It dawns on me slowly line eight needs an end.
The ninth line starts nicely the finishing trend.

I reflect on the nine lines stored in my head.
They are ok, just, it must be said.
This is the hard one it delivers the punch line.
Line ten done correctly it will make sense my rhyme.

I edit the poem in my confused little head.
There are many versions it must be said.
I write down the one I consider the best.
Then realize it’s not good and I need a rest.

The typed poem is now stuck in my head.
I hate it with a passion it must be said.
But I scan the written words and edit it so.
Check that its rhymes and reads with a flow.

I’m pleased with the words that started in my head.
But it needs more work it must be said.
There’s a bit of a problem some words don’t mix.
But a cut and a paste it was an easy fix.

The words are more pleasing in my simple little head.
I now love it with a passion it must be said.
All that is left is to send it to you.
And hope you enjoy my poetry too.

As the words travel to you I panic my head.
‘What if she hates it? ’ it must be said.
How do you know it’s reached the right place?
Check the glow in your heart and smile on your face.

But there are two little words still left in my head.
Left over, not used it must be said.
But they will have to sit there until next time.
Until you give me the idea for my next little rhyme.