Rhubarb And Custard Deconstructed Poem by Andy Brookes

Writing free verse costs me, accosts me, cudgels the brain,
so easy they say, easy there.
easy come easy go, fleeting thoughts on fleet feet
flighty flights of fancy filtrated frantically.
Alliteration in downward spirals helical.

now that's free thought, freeing up thoughts
that's the ticket, the trick is to pull it off
dah dah hey presto words and they never know.

but we sit in limbo as far as limbs go
we go, flow so, you know so, sowing the seeds
hoping for flowers but getting weeds
reaping the benefits, which befits the misfits.

all mist and reflective surfaces, surf ace, riding the big one,
those waves of inspiration, expiration, perspiration, damnation.

we play words like piano keys ivory and ebony, getting keyed up.
Soft peddling or orgasmic crashes unsustainable.

they say spouting rhubarb is a doddle, getting the custard right is prestidigitation.

a thousand manoeuvres, elementary, just skate on cliff edges.
hedges clipped in English tones, two tones, light and dark.

writing free verse you pay the piper,
but she's not always playing the tune you want,
always off key, it's mostly the one you least expect.