Great poetry is difficult to create
Especially when abstract concepts don't feed its power
Using tangible topics is making me irate
I'm getting more and more frustrated by the hour
But in my last minute panic I know
Just what I want to describe
Writing this poem took me more than one go
I'm writing it hurriedly during hour five
The others are reading, by the rules they're abiding
I'm writing in a red hoodie during English class
Kramarczyk's saying, "We're reading, not writing."
Constructing this poem's a pain in the ass
Kramarczyk's mad but I don't really care
I'm actually doing my homework for once
I know this poem is lacking and bare
But I'm writing while avoiding a hat that reads, "dunce"
In my cargo pants my leg moves up and down
I rub my head and rack my mind
My elbow is resting on a desk colored brown
I know that rhyme sucked but I'm in a bit of a bind
I'm just about done with my half-assed poem
It's lunch now, I finished right on time
Let's do something I'm good at, Porterfield, throw me a bone
The time on the clock reads 1:49
I liked your poem. It captured your frustration. I liked the moving leg in the cargo pants, the hoodie and Ms. K's comment -- very concrete. The abstract refusing to feed the concrete was dynamite.
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