The Cork in the Bottle

for DMR

How sweet the dream – a genie in my hand
to splash upon the page the magic of her wand,
partake of passing moments’ joys or blights
and fashion them to fresh and radiant light.

Internal rhyme is one prolific artist’s flair,
another skates - the lyrics fly, catch air.
If only woodsy ventures I remember
would dance on hooves, then poems render!

I wish I could collect the words I’ve penned,
toss them at convention’s wall -explode to gems.
I feel imprisoned in a literary garrison,
its bars, the dangers in comparison.

The genie’s bottle isn’t water-logged -
my envy’s got the damned thing clogged.

Johanna Donovan