Another day spent

Evening from  morn

Another night questions

What shall we do until dawn

 

Writing, reading,

dozing, watching,

walking, sleeping,

eating, bathing

 

That was the day

But now darkness is around

Dig deep my brain

Till some sparks can be found

 

We need to write some more

We need to finish our daily ration

Lest we forget this was the life we chose

When we threw to the winds our caution

 

So let me list, lest I forget

What I wrote this date

One poem, two blog posts,

thirty status messages “what are you doing” updates

 

I really should try the iambic pentameter

They say it is the prozac for  a writer

Too lazy to write in prose

Until my ineptitude causes me to fetter

The notion I could be even better

 

In my mind sits a machine

tick tocking churning

thoughts ideas notions

weapons of mass instruction

 

To  be a writer was so fat

When played in the movies

To be a writer can be so nuts

When played in real

 

This is nuts I should have learnt

to play the guitar than play with  a word

when the guitar playing ends atleast

there was  no odor absurd

 

 

But at the end

If you are still around

Un distracted by the image I found profound

Know we write because we were chosen

By the Gods to tell you our  amusing tale

Prophets live forever

but poets enjoy more

much more