Tag: writing

Some Rules (doo-be-doo)

Write what you know
blah blah blah
Ignore opinions of others
and write every
Rhyme dammit! (if you’re
in the mood, anyway)
Now you’re a poet!
We’re done
I’m through
(and if it doesn’t
hurt too much make some
sense once in a while –
for the rest of us)

Only Me

I shall write like
Jane Kenyon!
I decided emphatically
as I set her collected
works aside duly inspired
I put pen to paper
to write
and write I did!
but once again I find
only me
only me
and it’s
only Wednesday

Pull Up A Chair

has a nice
ring to it
when drowning in
but I suspect it
doesn’t ring or
do anything at all
You wouldn’t know
you were there
So pull up a chair
Write another poem
will catch you
soon enough
Mid sentence
if you’re lucky

Not Today

There will be no poem today
I’m too tired for this poetry game
and there are none waiting


Fingers drumming
for words from me

No one pining away
for a few rhyming lines


There will be no poem today

And I won’t be swayed
to coax my brain
to change

Drinking With Shadows

Tumbleweed bounces
down the street where
poetry used to roam
while the Marshal sits
far back in the
corner of the saloon
drinking with shadows
refusing to go anywhere
Whatever killed the poems
is still out there
He’s seen enough death
so he stays
and drinks
and stares

I Could, But . . .

I could construct you
a poem most impressive!
A veritable morass of
thesaurus worthy words
and obscure historical
references that few
would grasp
And it would have to be good
Not being understood would
render it unimpeachable!
But I see no use in
being deliberately

Last Minute Shit Scribble

I committed to writing at least
one poem a day and now I am less
than three hours away from missing
it today so here’s this:

There were several birds in a tree
By my count . . . it was three
And I begged and pleaded for a warble
but with the sun long past they bid me leave
No, this night they would not sing for me

The Muse Speaks

The muse has gathered my bones
in a wicker picnic basket
which she shakes violently
whenever I ask
what I should write
“This! This!”
she yells
as she rattles
my bone basket madly
around her head
“This is what a poem
sounds like!
Are you deaf?
Write it!”