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Poetry
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| The Poetaster | |
| By Talisker | ||||||||||
| 18 September 2006 | ||||||||||
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I suppose some would refer to it dryly as "writer's block". I'll away back under the duvet. Oli. I woke with the muse then It left, Leaving me of its blessings bereft, It was there then was gone, Hope it comes back anon, To inspire with its magical breath. Meantime I must struggle along, As each clumsy stanza goes wrong, Each word oddly jarring, Each angry line sparring, Each rhyme where it shouldn’t belong. For I cannot stop writing its true, When I do I get ever so blue, Hide under the covers, Away from all others, And all human contact eschew. So I’ll wait for the daughters of Zeus, My literary skills to unloose, When they visit I’ll weep, From their fountain drink deep, Sweet poesy flowing, effuse. ‘Til then I’m a fraud, a poetaster, My efforts poetic disaster, Please excuse my poor posts, And my humour morose, I beg you don’t brand me a waster. For when I recover my talents, And regain my lyrical balance, Your faith I’ll reward, With my blessings restored, I’ll rise once again to the challenge. Oli (18/09/06)
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