Tag Archives: Writing

What I Learned In English Class

Many a novelist worked all their lives

Studying classics and ignoring their wives

To write down a tale of legend and lore

That would outdo the authors who’ve written before.

Thousands of books line the library shelves

Depicting the foibles of demons and elves

And most of these pages (perhaps even all)

Cannot grip human minds like a big rubber ball.

A book needs attention; A ball just needs love

As you smack it with hands from below and above.

You may frown a bit when a character dies

But when the ball touches ground there are zero dry eyes.

A book has beginning and middle and end

But a ball is forever, moreso than a friend.

A book may be boring, but have ye no fear

For the fun’s never done when you play with a sphere!

So authors so erudite, hear my decree:

Stop fighting for writing. Let literature be

And trade out your quill for a beach ball (or three)

And see what an adventure “no-floor-ball” can be!

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Keep On Writing

Remember when we wrote things

For other folks to read

That answered all their questions

Or satisfied a need?

And sometimes we would write things

To create a laugh or smile,

To push you through a challenge

And inspire you through a trial.

Now we write for metrics

Like “likes” and “views” and “shares”

And instead of smiles and laughter

We get 100-mile stares.

But if we write the things we like

And refuse to drink

That vile-flavored Kool-Aid

Called “What other people think”

Perhaps we’ll crack a smile

Or persevere ourselves

Until we write a something

That can decorate your shelves.

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A Portrait Of The Artist As A Working Adult

Sometimes I am sleepy

So I write a haiku

To fulfill my daily promise

Of writing poems for you.

Sometimes the day after

My sleepiness departs

And I grace you with a poem

About love or dogs or farts.

Other times my sleepiness

Remains in all it’s splendor

For sleep has been neglected

By me, it’s sworn defender.

And so on such occasions,

Hypothetical as they may be,

I write two haikus in a row

(And sometimes even three)

But tonight I use a tactic

Less observed but just as smart:

I write about my writer’s block

And pass it off as art.

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Test Scores Declining = Ineffective Terminators

What if a time traveler became a teacher

And for a few decades or so

Just didn’t teach people to write

Because they already know

That AI will destroy the world

And our only hope are those

Who trained the AI how to write

Using their own terrible prose?

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Hark! I, The Bard, Doth Telleth Of Some Happenings That Art Off The Hook, Yo!

“Once upon a time…”

Is the ye olde way to say

“Get a load of this…”

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Just Do Something!

I have started many a poem

Upon this empty screen

And deleted many an opening line

Never again to be seen,

Censored preemptively many a thought

And pitilessly pruned prose

And yet still end up with something like this,

Illustrating how much writing goes.

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Amusing Musings In A World Without Muses Blues

Today I got up early

Around 5:00 AM or so. Um,

I spent my morning working

But not writing a poem.

I ate my lunch and read a book

With my mind never immersed

In considering a meter

Nor its counterpart of verse.

This evening after dinner

I took a shower hot

And massaged my wife’s posterior

Without a single thought

Regarding writing poetry,

Yet presently I’m writing it

So if you’d beat your writer’s block

Perhaps you should stop fighting it.

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The Hero’s Journey

There was a reluctant young hero

Whose number of close friends was zero.

An old mentor said “Hey,

“Want to come save the day?”

Kid agreed, and the whole world did cheer-o.

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And Then When WordPress Deletes Your Spaces Upon Publishing So You Have To Right/Center Align Stuff Instead… That’s Having An Editor!

poetry

is the art

of making things

really hard to

read

through

arbitrary

spacing

and forgetting to capitalize words

Unless

They

Make

An

impact

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Fine Is Fine

Yesterday I wrote a poem

Full of soul and thought

And edited the verbiage

Reflecting how I thought.

Today I rhymed “thought” with itself

And started the next line.

Inspiration comes and goes

And that, my friends, is fine.

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