The best poet of our group suggested I move my work into iambic pentameter. I had been writing pieces ten sylables a line, and iambic pentameter calls for five beats a line. Da dum, da dum, da dum, da dum, da dum.
Can I do this. Occasionally.
After following myself through the house, for I am the worlds worse mess maker, doing things like cleaning up after myself, doing my share of the chores, making the bed, I spent the rest of the day struggling with iambic pentmeter. Sometimes I can get the rhythm going, but the final result doesn’t necessarily make sense.
I’m not giving up, but I am severely discouraged.