Gettin' Unstuck of the Pluff Mud

Can There Be Another Way?
By GC SMITH

Wha?

Change my poetry?

Think?

Do sumptin’ different?

Ol’ stuck
in the
lowcountry
pluff mud
Smith?

Gotta be kiddin’.

Not write
of estuaries,
of shrimp,
of crabs
of fishin’ poles
an’
of Boston Whalers.

Not write about
blue skies,
hurricanes,
nature’s treachery,
green
marsh grasses,

Not write
of tall pine trees,
of mistletoe way up there,
of live oaks with resurrection fern
an’
of SC palmettos.

Not write of
of wood storks,
of hawks an’ eagles,
of ibis,
of heron an’ egret
of painted bunting
an’ of
Carolina wren..

Not write
of Gullah-Geechee ways,
of Frogmore stews,
of Oyster roasts
of Seafood gumbo,
of Savannah red rice
and
of the
laid back life.


Hell no. I can’t
change.
I won't

’cause
I’m mired in
Lowcountry lore
not to mention
quatrains
and
iambic pentameter
and
lettered rhyme schemes
and
all sorts of
crap
like that.

I don’t know
how
to break
the mold;
to do
neato
new stuff
like
free verse
with
enjambment,
loose structure,
whoopsy-daisy
rhyme schemes
or none;
an’
with
all the
accompanying
unfettering
of the
muse.

I think
it may
be
to much
for
me.

Nope,
I don’t
know how
to break free.

But then
again
...