Villanelle

As I sat down to write a poem
No spark, just rhyme as phloem
The desk rose up in anger

Dark words and senseless clangour
A rotten time of mist and rowan
As I sat down to write a poem

I pecked stale bread in fruitless hunger
The pen broke up, a dismal omen
The desk rose up in anger

The stanza tightened like a strangler
Ideas spilled, not mine but stolen
As I sat down to write a poem

All dancing, shrinking but also growing
Ideas flooding, out of langour
The desk rose up in fruitless anger

My writing net again is flowing
Fishing for words, a busy angler

As I sat down to write a poem
The desk rose up no more in anger