‘Free verse’ is apparently a style of poetry that doesn’t have rhyme or rhythm, and often doesn’t even have punctuation. I don’t know how to write poetry, though admire those who do. But free verse I think I can manage.
Below is a contemplation on my never-ending bugbear of ‘perfectionism.’ This contemplation centres around my desk. I believe it is ‘free verse,’ though I’m open to correction.
In any case, enjoy. Thanks for reading along.
I have a roll-top writers desk
Hand crafted
Wooden, apart from green vinyl lining flat surfaces and a metal lock and key
Lovingly constructed
I bought it second-hand
The sellers’ father had made it
“Don’t knock it; take good care of it,” they urged me
I assured them it was going to a good home
Inside an ordinary small suburban unit
The desk sits in a corner
Covered in clutter
Imbued with hopes and dreams
Write something flawless, I order myself
Something beautiful
Something world-changing
Something no-one else can write
But I’m just an ordinary woman
Though gifted with flexibility of time and money
Not limitless, but enough
And blessed with a wealth of experiences
Breathe deeply
Think clearly
Pray for inspiration
Put pen to paper, fingers to keyboard
I repent of even thinking I can achieve perfection
Perfection – an idol which paralyses me
It stymies my even starting
None is perfect except God alone
Lord, have mercy on your servant
This everyday woman seated at a gorgeous writing desk
May words written in this place
Bring you glory
Imperfect though they be