My late wife used to describe me as a combination of a poet and an engineer. She was right. Sometimes, for me, the sense of having created art is the primary motivation; and sometimes, the process of writing a poem has its own rewards; its own satisfactions; its own frustrations.
For example, I imagined the following little verse as a story poem — the protagonist visits his aged parents in order to convince them to move to some sort of care facility. At the time I wrote the first version, some years ago, i created a rough draft, divided into stanzas that told the basic story. Then I added a new challenge — a complicated rhyme scheme. I added the complication for two reasons, one good and one bad. The good reason was that I felt that by making the rhyme scheme complicated I would disguise the fact that the rhymes existed — always my ideal when i was using rhymed verse to convey an idea, a message, or a strong emotion. The bad reason was that, as often happens to me, the technical challenge got in the way of the story I was trying to tell, and I ended up with a satisfying rhyme scheme, but a muddied story.
The version that follows is the usual compromise; the story I was trying to tell is much clearer, but I had to give up some of my favorite lines., and the rhyme scheme is simpler and more obvious.
Tired and frail, the old house stood,
With termites eating at the wood.
I walked through the door.
Too well I remember my sense of despair
On seeing them still living there,
Bereft, bewildered, and ignored.
I had come to ask them to move out,
The proper thing to do, no doubt.
Did I want to succeed?
I sat, and listened to the past.
Agreed, that it had past too fast
— My obligatory deed.
Age resembles poverty —
A kind of blameless misery
Because my aged parents couldn’t cope,
My talk of care homes gave them hope.
They walked through the door.