Have you ever started writing a poem for it to turn into an exercise in mental torture? This is what I've been doing today.
I came across a poetry competition last night, deadline is midnight tomorrow but I thought I'd give it a bash. It's in memory of the Glasgow artist and sculpture Hannah Frank. When I checked out the link I really liked her black and white drawings. So the competition is to write a poem inspired by one of Hannah Frank's drawings. I picked this wonderful drawing:
It's called Moon Ballet.
I've written a good chunk of the poem but just can't seem to bring it together and it's now hurting my head. But there's still tomorrow...