A Poets Curse Poem by Stanley Cooper

Quitting is not in my make-up
It’s not something I do
I’ll give my brain a big shake-up
To find those new rhymes past due

I no longer write poems easily
Particularly the kind that last
Dismayed, I admit, most queasily
My rhyming days seem long past

Perhaps my few fans won’t give a whit
After all, a Shakespeare I’m not
Ogden Nash had such wry wit
It’s his wit that I’ve not got

And when it comes to Mr. Gilbert
Of Savoyard fame
I’d be nutty as a filbert
To assume I could play in his game

It feels like a poets curse
This rhyming disappearance
Not able to create a verse
With any rhyming coherence

Quitting is not in my make-up
It’s not something I do
I’ll give my brain a big shake-up
To find those new rhymes past due