| Writer's Block? Right as Rain! |
| I've never known the awful shock when rhymes 'n' rhythms fail to flow! It seems to me that writer's block Can make you stop or very slow! It's bound to happen, I suppose To low and mighty, bright and dull, To types who type or scribble prose In Dallas, London, Leeds or Hull. The cogs get clogged the thoughts are dire, The brain won't function as of yore. The words won't come, we're not inspired, Our mood is heavy, blighted, bored. The Pencils sharpened in their rows The rituals just don't seem to work You're keen as mustard, Heaven knows, It's not as if you want to shirk! Still, nothing happens, not a jot. No inspiration thaws you out You're cold as ice, your head is hot! Nada, nothing, niente, nowt! I guess I'll go and feed the cat, Make another pot of tea. Sort the papers, lay them flat, Start again? No, have a pee! Ah, that's better, Now I'll settle But maybe just ten minutes telly? A well-earned break, put on the kettle, Prepare a snack to fill my belly. I hear the kids, John, Jane and Marcus, They want to eat, they ask where Tom is. Tomorrow, though, I'll be more focused, Organised to keep my promise. Just as I promised yesterday; I will not fritter time way! I've NEVER suffered writer's block, I'm just distracted by the clock! |