Poem of the Week: Another Day for Writer’s Block

Another Day for Writer’s Block
October 10, 2017

Another day, week, month, year…
Another year flushed, I fear.
What am I doing?
Why am I screwing
Myself out of what I hold dear?

So many years put to waste
All ‘cause I failed to make haste
In following my dreams.
Now here I scream
As my brain melts into a paste.

It certainly helps me not,
For nary a rhyme I’ve got
For this rant of mine
At this very time.
Oy vey! What a time for brain rot!

Only mid-aged, and already I
Can feel my brain cells die.
What a drag and a joke
To be mentally broke
At this moment ‘neath Heaven’s blue sky.

Then again, that’s why I write.
It’s how I carry on my own fight
Against mental decay
During these dark days
When we’re all searching for the light.

I’ve always loved to create.
That’s one thing not up for debate.
Be it fiction or prose,
Writing cures my woes
In this world of despair and hate.

Writing gives me a holiday
From the crap of this age and day.
It gives me an escape
From the fools, creeps, and flakes
And all the crap they do and say.

When I write, I’m in control,
Creating characters with soul
To which one can relate
And appreciate
In my story throughout its whole.

It’s the thing I’ve got control of,
Hence why it’s the one thing I love,
And one can’t take away
How it makes my day
And fits like a custom-made glove.

Such is why others like to write,
For writing shows us the light
And allows us to be
All that we can be
And in turn make their cases right.

Such is what writing for us brings,
And I hope to make it the thing
One of these days
In one or another way
For me so tat I can sing

Happily ever after,
My voice ringing through the rafters,
Not only to claim
Fortune and fame,
But something else that I’m after:

The honor of leaving a mark
And a chance to lead folks from the dark
And into the light
To make things right.
That’s the prize for which this dog barks.

Alas, though, it comes without shock
That even I face writer’s block.
It’s a pain to work through,
I’m telling you,
But it’s a case I can’t help but mock,

For the one thing want most of all
Has led me smack into a wall.
I don’t mean to complain,
Either, ‘bout this pain,
For I know I must work through it all,

And work through it I shall,
For I ‘lone hold myself back, pal,
‘Til I fire myself up.
Then, all will know “what’s up,”
And prove my true worth I shall,

Be it one way or another.
There’ll be no stopping me, brother,
Once I get back on track
And clean up my act.
Once I do, I’ll take off like no other.

Just you wait and see there, jack,
For while you may see me as a hack,
I’ll get back on my feet
And scoff at defeat
For daring to give me and slack,

And my detractors, for their flack,
Will, too, understand I’m not whack
No matter how bizarre
My works to them are,
And their respect I’ll have, too, mack.

‘Tl then, here I am, brain in head
Rotting ‘way ‘til I end up dead,
‘Lest I get my rear
Finally in gear
And at last pout this block to bed,

For I alone hold the key
To seek what’s in store for me,
And once I start,
I know I’ll be a part
Of the system. Just you wait and see.

*****

Author Pages: Smashwords.com
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Poem of the Week: Frustration of an Undiscovered Author

Frustration of an Undiscovered Author
September 26, 2017

Month after wasted month, year after wasted year,
I reach my hands up high for something more,
Yet no matter how far I reach, nothing ever comes near,
And I wonder if anything really is in store,

So I try hopping up and down, bounding higher with each jump,
Flailing my arms frantically all the while,
Yet no matter how feverishly my furious fists I pump,
I always fall back down in a frustrated pile.

I even cry out to the heavens, hoping someone will hear
That I’m alive and around and worth the time,
Yet all my screaming and shouting only brings me to tears
As I likewise lose this desperate voice of mine,

And once again, I’m left all alone, just as I was before,
Asking why no one sees any worth in me.
Why am I so unwanted? Why’s dealing with me such a chore?
I’m actually worth something, dammit! Can’t you see?

I’m not some braindead peasant. I’m not some clueless schmuck.
I’m more worth investing in than you think,
But ho! You keep you blowing me off and wishing me “Best of luck!”
Not telling me directly why I stink.

It’s either that, or it’s one excuse or another that I’ve already
Heard before from others just like you.
Sooner or later, though, you know one day, you’ll need to be ready
To take on somebody promising, fresh, and new,

Unless those whom you serve already are somehow immortal
Beyond their work, but I doubt that’s the case,
So come on already! Stop casting me away from your portal
As if I’m some kind of talentless disgrace.

Anyone can pick me up, after all, and make something of me
In the instance you refuse to do so, friend,
And when they do and my name becomes immortalized, you’ll see
That success for you had always been ‘round the bend.

Better things have happened for blatant schlock that’s polluted the mainstream,
Bob-bob-bobbing in it like buoyant turds,
And even if I don’t become a legend once I fulfilled my dream,
At least I’ll at last chance to be seen and heard,

And who knows? People just might like me. Wouldn’t that be a treat
After all these years I’ve spent trying to break free?
I’ll finally start a brand new life, too, living on Easy Street
Rather than carrying on through that which’s fallen on me.

All I need is someone on my side to see I’ve got what it takes
To at long last make my dream a reality,
For apparently, I’m forbidden to do so on my own, for Heaven’s sake,
But will somebody help me? I guess we’ll see.

I’ll just keep on doing what I’ve been doing this whole bloody while,
Albeit with a new approach to my crusade
In hopes that someone will hear me and greet me with a smile
And see to my success finally being made.

I’ll show you, then, that I am worth something and prove you the fool,
And the last laugh will be mine at your baseless doubts,
And I’ll throw your “Best of lucks” back at you as you wallow in a pool
Of shame towards the flippancy you used to spout.

Better days are around the corner. They just have to be.
Things can’t get that much worse from this point on.
I just have to keep trying, though, if success I want to see
And all my naysayers I want to prove wrong.

***** 

Author Pages: Smashwords.com
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Poem of the Week: Alphabet Rush of Defiance

Alphabet Rush of Defiance
February 27, 2017

Aggravation. Boredom. Carelessness, too.
Damned if I doze off every midday through.
Evenings I’ve spent working for a future yet to come.
Goodness gracious, do I feel like such a blasted bum!
How the hell can I do it? I guess I may never know.
Just judge me, though, for trying, when I have something to show
Knuckleheads like you, for a loser you may see,
But a moron I’m not, nor a nimrod I shall be.
Opportunity waits, after all, and pretty soon,
I’ll quickly rise through the ranks and leave you to swoon
At all the trouble I’ve endured and the triumph I’ll procure
Under ugly circumstances with much venom to endure.
What will you do then? X-crete in your pants with shock?
Yeah, I can believe that. Now please return to your flock
As I zig and zag through obstacles to become number one.
Until then, keep mocking me. I dare you, naysaying scum!

*****

Author Pages: Smashwords.com
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Poem of the Week: Why Do I Even Bother?

Why Do I Even Bother?
December 18, 2016

Why do I even bother? Why do I even care?
Why do I work so hard for something that takes me nowhere?
What does it even matter in the long run anymore
When there’s no promise of fame and fortune in store?

All this time I’ve been trying to achieve a goal
That I haven’t even begun to reach yet, and it’s taken its toll
On my mind, my time, my wallet, and even my physical core,
And it’s making me wonder if there’s really anything in store.

Going ‘round and ‘round in my head, trying to sort things out
‘Til the solution proves to be simple. Then I can’t help but pout
At all the time I’ve wasted on one silly, stupid thing
When I could have worked on something else. What a nasty sting!

Then again, the other project only offers me such joy
‘Til my juices dry up on it and my brain sinks into the void,
Leaving me to wonder why I even bothered starting it,
And for the next hour or two, my mind starts throwing a fit

And aches like there’s no tomorrow. Then, I need a nap
Before heading right on back to work, but by then, my mind’s sapped.
I trudge on anyway, though, ‘til the inspiration comes
And carry on working ‘til my mind once again grows numb,

Hoping against hope all the while I’ll finally gain
That which I keep on searching for, which I know sounds insane,
Considering all I’ve said here. Then again, stranger things
Have happened in this crazy world, so hopefully the sting

I still feel one day goes away and things pick up from there,
And I’ll at last live a life with much reward and little care,
And when I look back on these days, I’ll thank my lucky stars
I’d no longer endure the grievances that have given me countless scars.

Instead, I’ll carry on knowing that I’d finally made my way
Into the masses’ hearts, wishing sooner had come the day
But thankful all the same that the drama had come to an end
And that I finally achieved that which I’m now searching for, friend.

*****

Author Pages: Smashwords.com
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Bonus Poem of the Week: Revision Blues

Revision Blues
November 22, 2016

The harder I work, the more I fall back.
Frustration only begins to describe things.
Any more might give me a heart attack.

Trying to sort out my plan of attack
On this project on which I’ve been working.
The harder I work, the more I fall back.

Otherwise, to square one I shall be back
For yet one more day on this stupid thing.
Any more might give me a heart attack.

I thought I’d had it done quite some time back,
Only to find faults in the wretched thing.
The harder I work, the more I fall back.

Each time I’ve tried to fix it, though, how whack
It turns out again! Such a wasted fling!
Any more might give me a heart attack.

Maybe I should just take one more step back
‘Fore I really lose it o’er this dumb thing.
The harder I work, the more I fall back.
Any more might give me a heart attack.

*****

Author Pages: Smashwords.com
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Poem of the Week: Static (a.k.a. Brain on the Fritz Again part 2)

Static (a.k.a. Brain on the Fritz Again part 2)
April 13, 2015

Snap! Fzzt! Crackle! That’s all I ever hear:
Countless pointless thoughts clouding up my head.
Even when my feelings are crystal clear,
My mind’s still a mess, filling me with dread.
As my brain throbs away like nothing else
I’ve ever felt in my life, least thus far,
I’m on the verge of pitying myself,
Wondering just where all my brain cells are.
What’s wrong with me? Why’s it so hard to think
When I do that which I know I do best?
Why do I falter with paper and ink
When so often I’ve passed the writing test?
This chaos in my mind has got to stop.
One more burst, and my brain will more than pop.

*****

Author Pages: Smashwords.com

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Poem of the Week: Brain on the Fritz Again

Brain on the Fritz Again
February 25, 2015

Buzz! Crackle! Fizz! go the wires in my mind.
A hundred random images I swore I’d left behind.
A pressing task before me I must complete ASAP.
A sense of exhaustion coaxing me into taking a nap.
How can I overcome this? How can I try to cope?
How can I discipline myself? Have I any hope?
Even with my distractions don’t fall into my lap,
My mind keeps going on the fritz, and I’m sick of this crap.
I try to slog on through it all, but things simply won’t flow.
My mental plumbing’s all clogged up and just won’t let crap go.
I try giving in to my distractions, but that backfires, too,
As my focus only gets more distorted than before. Aw, phoo!
I’ve also tried balancing things out between one job and the next,
But even then, it’s one step forth, another back, and I’m vexed.
There’s clearly something I’m doing wrong—or, at least, not doing right.
Such is what I put up with every day and every night.
Is my work ethic that shoddy? Am I just that slow in the head?
Have just that many cells of my gray matter gone dead?
Is my talent waning just that fast? Had I even that much at first?
Whatever the case, all I know is that this problem’s at its worst
And might even worsen all the more, lest I do something fast.
After all, I’ve a dream to forge, and I can’t have this last.
It’s back to getting my together again before it’s too late.
This static force with which I must cope is no longer up for debate.

*****

Author Pages: Smashwords.com

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