Bonus Poem of the Week: Writer’s Block Blues (and How I Deal With Them)

Writer’s Block Blues (and How I Deal With Them)
November 28, 2023

Well, I’m staring at a blank screen, not knowing what to write.
Yeah, I’m staring at a blank screen, not knowing what to write,
But I swear I’ll think of something, even if it takes me all night.

Such a shame I’m long overdue, though, with such a project of mine.
Sure wish I wasn’t overdue at all with this project of mine.
Heaven knows just how hard I’m kicking my lazy ol’ behind.

This cold ain’t helping me, either—the one I got three days ago.
No, this cold ain’t helping me, either—the one I got three days ago,
Leaving my runny nose and nagging cough to give me a load of woe.

No time to waste with any kind of games, then. Time to screw in my heels.
I can’t afford to even think of games now. I really must screw in my heels
And focus on what’s right in front of me. That, my friends, is the deal.

No time for other projects, either—not ‘til this is out of my face.
My other projects will just have to wait ‘til this one’s out of my face.
One thing at a time, as far as I’m concerned, and I’ve got no time to waste.

Oh, good grief! There goes my stomach, rumbling like I’ve not been fed.
I could have sworn I just had dinner, but my gut insists I’ve not been fed.
Please stop bellyaching, dear belly. Just a few more stanzas before bed.

Oh, great! Now it’s my mind that’s fading away like a winter sun.
Come on, mind! Stay with me now and focus. Stop setting like a winter sun.
Just one more stanza, and it’ll be over. Then I promise we’ll be done.

That’s how I’ve learned to deal with writer’s block when push comes to shove,
For though forcing things to work doesn’t always work, when push comes to shove,
I can usually get the job done—one more thing ‘bout writing I love.

It’s all just a matter of motivation, but man, what a ride I go on,
Given all the things in one week of my life that can go on
To give me the inspiration I need to compose a band new song.

*****

Author Pages: Smashwords.com
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                         Amazon.co.uk

Poem of the Week: The Steeple of Dreams part I: The Call of the Steeple

The Steeple of Dreams part I: The Call of the Steeple
November 3, 2023

Legend has it that every seven years out of the Golden Sands
Of ‘Ard al-Qadir in Ti’Essaar, a most mythical land,
There rises an obelisk of gold and ivory from the desert ground
That emits waves of hope and glory that reach for miles around,

Diffusing visions into the minds of all with the courage and grit
To seek out greater things for themselves than what Fate has seen fit.
Many have been those, too, who’ve answered the call by setting forth
To the Golden Sands to seek this tower from the east, south, west, and north

And ascend to its very precipice to achieve that which the structure holds.
Alas, few have returned from their journey oh so treacherous and bold,
And all who’ve done so have with empty hands and deflated hearts
For not finding what their dreams had promised them from the very start.

Such tales are why many a nonbeliever in the legend exists today
And sees such treks as fruitless wastes of time, foolish in every way.
Still, the hope of the tale rings true through the masses year after year,
And the failures of those before them have yet to squash their faith dear.

In fact, ‘tis been seven years since this tower had risen from the sand,
And since then, a mighty demonic horde has surfaced to invade the land
And wage war against its mortal populace for reasons unknown,
Cutting, clawing, and gnawing many of many a race to the very bone.

It’s taken a collective effort, too, and countless resources to boot
To keep the mortal realm of Ti’Essaar from being reduced to soot
By the senseless violence that the demons have provoked upon their prey,
But at last, they’ve slunk back into the earth to spare for another day

The victors of the war they’d waged, who’re left with their nations drained
Of food and building and medical supplies in the wake of the pain
That the demons had wrought upon the land from border to border,
Which has hence turned many a living soul into a looter and a hoarder.

In fact, many has become the nation that’s turned hostile against
Its neighbors via disputes over territory and resources hence,
And the longer these resource battles have raged, the more fragile Ti’Essaar
Has become in the process far and wide, leaving a nasty scar

Upon the realm and among its people that runs deeper by the day,
Leaving its beleaguered citizens praying constantly in their own way.
As such, the time’s become more than ripe for the Steeple of Dreams
To call out to the intrepid before the realm falls further apart at the seams,

For surely the desperation of the times has spurred on those with the mettle
To challenge the state of things for themselves rather than lie down and settle
To suffer alongside everyone else whom the war against the netherworld
Has affected deeply. Then again, who knows just what shall next unfurl

When the call of the Steeple goes out and warriors from every nation
Close in on it to discover what lies atop it? Will there be elation
Upon the discovery of its treasure, or will the trip once more claim
The lives of many a dreaming fool who, in body and in soul, gets maimed?

Only time will tell, for many must be those who are willing to chance
Their lives and reputation on a legend not yet proven beyond mere romance.
Thus the Steeple rises from the Golden Sands to be heard and seen far and wide
And beckons once more heroes by the score to at last discover what’s inside.

*****

Author Pages: Smashwords.com
                         Amazon.com
                         Amazon.co.uk

Bonus Poem of the Week: A Writer’s Editorial Woe

A Writer’s Editorial Woe
October 21, 2023

Sometimes I think too much and try to change that which is fine,
Not knowing that it is, for in my picky, convoluted mind,
Everything has its flaws, and flaws were meant for people like me
To spot or hear and fix so that perfection can at last be.

Then again, what’s perfection to one who’s constantly changing things
But a sick, sad illusion that’ll never be, no matter what changes one brings
To any work one edits? Nonetheless, I keep tweaking away
‘Til the work no longer represents what it was in any way.

I’ve tried to help my condition, but each time I look at my work,
I can’t help but feel incompetent at the duty I’d shirked
In conveying my message the right way, though thankful I am most the time
That I hadn’t yet published what I’d to say for any audience of mine.

Therefore, I edit and edit some more to complete my pitiless plight,
But by the time I’m done editing, it still doesn’t seem quite right,
And I must take a break from it all before I drive myself insane,
Only for my work to not taste the breath of day, come sun, snow, or rain.

It’s a nasty sickness with which I deal night and day with my craft,
But to publish incomplete or shoddy work? I’d be no less than daft
To attempt such a thing, lest I wish to look like more of a fool than I am.
Hence my editing, despite its making me seem like a senile old man.

Maybe one day, my skill and work ethic will improve at long last,
And the next time I compose something, the day will come to pass
Where my need to revise what I’ve written won’t be nearly as severe
And my audience and I alike will enjoy what we both see and hear.

Until then, my nasty habit’s all too much alive and well, I’m afraid,
Which is both a blessing and a curse, but at least progress I’ve made
In perfecting my craft as a writer, so let’s hope it’s not too long
For the next work to see the light of day and prove to be my victory song.

*****

Author Pages: Smashwords.com
                         Amazon.com
                         Amazon.co.uk

Poem of the Week: Ignatius the Fed-Up Goblin part V: Afternoon Exercises

Ignatius the Fed-Up Goblin part V: Afternoon Exercises
September 23, 2023

Corned beef, lettuce, and tomato on rye bread with radish chips and milk—
Not a bad lunch from his human hosts, Ignatius thought, given his ilk,
But just as he savored his last bits of it…Ba-DAA! The afternoon horn blared,
And a guard arrived to lead him to the yard, warning him, “Be prepared,

For Sir Bruce expects his adventurers to be nothing less than the best:
The fleetest of foot, the strongest of sword arm—you can surely guess the rest.”
Ignatius nodded, then squared his shoulders and marched alongside the guard,
Noting that they were alone in the hallway as they headed for the courtyard.

How that could be he could only guess, but an educated guess he could make.
He kept his concern to himself, however, for fear of feeding his take
To the stone-faced, halberd-toting man treading staunchly by his side,
And eventually, out of the fort they came with nowhere for Ignatius to hide

From the stern countenances of the human trainees who happened to peer his way
As they otherwise stood at attention ‘neath the waning sun of the autumn day.
Out of curiosity, Ignatius peeked to see if he could spot Philip’s face,
And lo and behold, there he was, front and center with a big smile in place.

Before Ignatius could smile back, though, and join the others in line,
His guard led him to stand before the class while an officer clad in fine
Regalia paced back and forth before the others and announced, “As promised, class,
You shall learn about when the moment for long-distance combat comes to pass.

Now, Ignatius here has kindly volunteered to represent the common foe,
And in this exercise, you’re to knock him down with your arrows just so.”
Ignatius’s eyes widened as the instructor made his announcement plain
And realized at last Sir Bruce’s treachery so guileful and inhumane.

Slack-jawed and wide-eyed as he was, however, his wits stayed with him the while,
And just as the trainer commanded his students to “Ready…aim…fire!” with style,
Ignatius darted off with as much a flash as his short legs would allow him to,
And he dodged the arrows the humans fired at him, tumbling the whole time through

With an agility he never knew he had, rolling and somersaulting left and right
As he dodged one arrow right after another ‘til the trainees gave up their plight
And adhered to the officer’s words as he said, “So you see how difficult, class,
It can be to strike down these cunning bastards? Truly a pain in the ass!

Now, though, set your bows down and draw your swords and see how they fight
Up close and personal. Ready now!” Then, a ghastly shade of white
Did Ignatius’s face grow even before he could catch his breath
As the students drew their swords and charged forth to stab him to death—

All but one, Ignatius saw, for he caught sight of Philip hanging back,
Sighing with his sword drawn as his eyes filled with sad reluctance to attack.
That was, of course, ‘til the instructor smacked him on the back of his poor head
And sent him to sink his sword into Ignatius to render him dead.

Ignatius, meanwhile, had his hands full enough with the trainees who came
Upon him swiftly, their blades at the ready as his hide they aimed to maim.
One by one, they set upon him, slashing at him as deftly as they could,
But when he drew his own sword and countered their cuts, it did them no good,

For with firm resolution and confidence in his own blade’s hardiness,
He swung it just so to disarm each foe, then for being the cause of his distress,
He tripped each swordsman and swordswoman and made them all fall flat
On their faces and keisters to the very last with an almost comical splat.

Then came Philip with his half-hearted rush, sword raised high above his head
As he brought it down towards Ignatius’s own as if to cut him down dead.
Ignatius saw the trepidation, though, in his friend’s eyes as he attacked
And quickly sidestepped his rush and tripped him, sending him down upon his back.

He then boldly approached the instructor whose face was twisted with disgust,
Pointed his sword at the fuming lout and proclaimed, “Pardon me, but I must
Ask what the meaning of this whole mess is before I turn you in.
The instructor merely stood there and fumed. “Spare me, goblin. You’ll never win.

We’re all onto what you’re up to being here amongst humankind
When your own lot’s been raiding our merchants left and right, front and behind,
And your spying on us shan’t do you good, so give up your precious plight
And go tell your breed that you’ve failed them in your mission. Alright?”

Ignatius let his sword rest by his side. “Who says I’m spying
Or representing my people as you say I am rather than trying
To simply find a better way to earn for my family our keep
In this world where our breed’s been labeled villains and has long and deep

Received your people’s ire? Do you really distrust me that much
That you’ll make me a target for my fellow trainees to throttle and such?
What must I do to earn your trust and prove that I’m moving on
With my life as I’ve long known it? After all, every wrong

My fellow goblins and I’ve made against you I can’t alone undo.
Tell me, then, what task I must undertake to earn the trust of you.”
The instructor merely narrowed his eyes and rubbed his chin thoughtfully,
Then sighed as he admitted, “Alas, only Sir Bruce with that can help ye.

Don’t expect him to go easy on you, though, for his distrust is more than mine,
And he’s sure to find the harshest mission for you so that your green behind
Is forever lost to humankind. Go on, now! See him if you dare.”
Ignatius then sheathed his sword and strolled away, though continued to stare

Suspiciously at the instructor, even as the guard who’d brought him out
To the courtyard in the first place led him away, his armored and stout
Body swaying to and fro as he pointed his halberd at his unwanted guest
And made him march back to the fortress to see what mission was best

For the skills he’d just put on display, fending for his life against a slew
Of humans eager to cut him down plus one clearly less willing to.
Speaking of Philip, all he could do then was look after Ignatius
And wonder what fate awaited him, feeling like an ignoramus

For obeying his instructor’s orders and raising his sword against a friend,
Hoping that his sheepish obedience their friendship didn’t end.
Feeling obligated to mend things, then, he rushed forward towards the fort
To see what he could do to patch things up, no matter the sort

Of task he had to undertake to amend for his betrayal,
All the while hearing the instructor’s voice call after him in a wail
And demand he return to finish his training, but the bard heeded not his call,
For he knew in his gut he was destined to help the goblin through it all.

Ignatius the Fed-Up Goblin part I: Coming Home from the Raid

Ignatius the Fed-Up Goblin part II: Ignatius’s Journey West

Ignatius the Fed-Up Goblin part III: Arrival at the Adventurers’ Guild

Ignatius the Fed-Up Goblin part IV: Ignatius Meets the Guild Master

*****

Author Pages: Smashwords.com
                         Amazon.com
                         Amazon.co.uk

Bonus Poem of the Week: Ignatius the Fed-Up Goblin part IV: Ignatius Meets the Guild Master

Ignatius the Fed-Up Goblin part IV: Ignatius Meets the Guild Master
July 2, 2023

The guards brought Ignatius and Phillip into the adventurers’ guild,
Long in hallway, limited in plush, and just as sturdy in build
On the inside as it was on the outside, brown stone walls and the like,
Yet the duo couldn’t drink it all in with their backs prodded by the guards’ pikes.

It took many twists and turns, too, before the duo at last arrived
At the guild master’s chambers, but once they did, the guards urged them inside
With a goading from their halberds, and soon the twosome came to face
A maroon-garbed man with a broad-brimmed hat shading his grizzled face

Bolting up from behind his grand oak desk upon seeing his two guests.
“What’s this?” he cried as he did so and brushed off his brown leather vest.
“Two schemers who claim they want to join,” said the one guard in sharp disgust,
“But as you can tell from the small one, we’ve reason to show them distrust.”

The guild master stepped out from behind his desk to take a closer look
At Phil and Ignatius as they stood by apprehensively like books
On a shelf, all rigid and gathering dust as the master read them up and down,
Then inquired, “Names?” before peering back at his guards with a concerned frown.

Phillip rattled his head and cleared his throat before answering, “I, good sir,
Am Phillip of Gracerock, minstrel by trade, and I mean to cause no stir
By bringing Ignatius here with me in my search for a quest.
In fact, I but learned just now that he’s a goblin, much to your men’s distress.

At the time, I but saw him as a fellow wanderer in search of a destiny,
And even now, unless we’ve all further proof, that is what he still is to me.
Kindly, then, grant us a chance to prove ourselves worthy of your establishment.”
“Young man,” asked the master, “have you no idea how many resources we’ve spent

In preventing goblin raids on merchant caravans rolling from one city to the next
Or how oft this city and its surrounding towns goblins continue to vex?
How do you know your companion here’s not scouting for his clan’s next assault,
Using someone with your heart to cover his tracks? Can you live with being at fault

For the next instance involving your own kind falling prey to goblin steel?”
“That’s the thing, Sir Bruce,” the other guard chirped. “Apparently, that’s not the deal.
Apparently, the goblin’s sworn that he’s fed up with his clan’s raiding ways
And wants to redeem himself via this guild to know more fruitful days.”

Sir Bruce turned back to Ignatius and inquired, “Little one, is that true?”
Ignatius stood as straight as he could and met his host’s gaze, piercing blue,
Then replied, “Yes, sir, and the tale I told your guards about me letting go
Of my days as a bandit is naught less than fact born from a tale of woe

Upon seeing many of my own comrades die trying to procure mundane goods
With which to support our own families and enrich our neighborhood.
I cannot undo what I and my kin have done in days past, but I can,
With your permission, be a credit to both our communities as a man

And improve my stature in this world ‘fore death has me move on to the next.”
Sir Bruce rubbed his bearded chin thoughtfully as he considered the complex
Circumstances that led his short green visitor to arrive at his guild,
Then replied, “You certainly sound sincere enough in expressing your will.

Granted, the tensions between our people and yours have been so severe
That my other agents will be reluctant to accept your presence here.
That, and the missions we’ll send you on may be quite grave, rewards aside,
But if you’ve the mettle to undertake them, we’ll gladly have you on our side.”

Ignatius bowed gratefully. “Thank you, sir! I appreciate the opportunity.
How about Phillip, too?” Sir Bruce looked the bard over, then answered, “We’ll see.
I’ve no doubt your friend here would like to explore regions less documented so that
He’s history to record, but we’ll need the right team to help him accomplish that.

In the meantime, we’ve drilling exercises for you, should you be prepared,
And should we see that you stack up against the others, we’ll send you where
Your talents would be of the best use.” He then turned to the guards and said,
“Take our small friend here to the barracks and grant him a place to rest his head.

The guards gaped at each other before turning back to the master. “Really, Sir Bruce?
You’re giving this menace the benefit of a doubt ‘fore he surely cooks your goose?”
“Indeed, I am!” Sir Bruce retorted. “Now, no more arguing! Step to it
And see that—Ignatius, correct?—is accustomed as I see fit.

Send him to his chambers as per my instructions and, shortly after, some food,
For he and Phillip here have surely travelled far and are hence in the mood
For something with which to fill their stomachs, and I dare not let hunger strike
Those whom I have on my payroll. Then, when the moment is right,

Sound the horns for the afternoon exercises so that they two
Can train alongside their new comrades before the day is through.
We’ll find out what to do with them after that. Now, though, do as I say.”
‘Twas then with a reluctant sigh that the guards went on their way

With the unwanted Ignatius in their charge as they headed back down the halls
And, after a while, arrived at the barracks with their cold gray walls—
Cold, but not more so than the guards’ demeanor as they led him to
His room at the end of the hallway with multiple cots and cubbies into

Which he and other residents could stash whatever supplies they’d brought.
“Get some rest,” the one guard ordered as he ushered him in, “for though we ought
To have you thrown in the king’s dungeon just for being what you are,
Sir Bruce sees something in you and just might want to see you go far.

In the meantime, luch’ll come your way soon, and once you’ve filled your face,
You’ll hear the horn for the afternoon’s exercises blare ‘round the face.
Follow the sound to the courtyard, and we’ll be sure to intercept you
To introduce you to the other trainees and the exercises we’ll put you through.

Just you sit tight in the meanwhile and enjoy—if you can—your stay.”
The two guards then left Ignatius to reflect on what’d so far been his first day
Among humankind, and if he knew no better, he’d have said he was blessed
To have been tolerated as far as he’d been, though he knew ‘twas but his first test,

For only heavens knew what awaited him following the afternoon horn.
Would the exercises be as forgiving as what he’d gone through that morn,
Or was the worst yet to come for him and his luck about to run out?
There was but one way to learn the truth, he believed: Wait for it to come about.

Ignatius the Fed-Up Goblin part I: Coming Home from the Raid

Ignatius the Fed-Up Goblin part II: Ignatius’s Journey West

Ignatius the Fed-Up Goblin part III: Arrival at the Adventurers’ Guild

Ignatius the Fed-Up Goblin part V: Afternoon Exercises

*****

Author Pages: Smashwords.com
                         Amazon.com
                         Amazon.co.uk