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Personal Note:
Poem Title:
Poem
There is an antique writing desk
in my little study
handed-me-down
from generations of would-be
writers in my family

And there are ancient creatures
from days gone by
living in this old desk still
evil, larcenous little creatures
envious of literary skill

This explains much

Lately, I have caught them unawares
aghast, thought I imagined them
but they are really there
surly, sinister, repugnant creatures
in my writing desk

There's a putrid little jerk,
called Pernishicus who lurks
behind the piles on my desk 
glorying in the mess
a malevolent, grimy-mauve gremlin
 
Who preys on newly created works
stealthily spraying them
with foul feculence
as soon as I commence
my writing- 

...Sometimes missing slightly
and tagging my hand
making it hard to stand
myself (much less my writing)
for days on end

Then there's a creepy
mesmerizing fiend
they call Spelbadger
a translucent thing, quite obscene
who shifts in the shadows and purrs

With dark eyes deep- constantly changing
like stones from mood-rings
set in his skull
he psychically bullies,
intimidates and muddles
until my poor brain
is worn and dull

And perhaps worst of all
is that one, Grumblesleaze
with pale, glowering eyes diseased
a gray-green, mangy looking thing
whose famous quirk
is that he has the gall 
to grouse about my work...

As he viciously shreds it
then glunshing and munching
greedily devours it all
leaving no note
or trace of remembrance
of my past brilliance
behind

Oh, out of spite
he might leave a few
of my ill-penned
unfortunate lines
I planned to cut anyway
or pull my worst attempts
from the waste-can
and lay them out
to remind me of my failures

Yes, this explains much

For there was only one before
our one lone ancestor
who was able to write
at this desk prolifically
tapping out volumes rather heroically

'Though tiresome and tedious
dry history and drivel
which, no doubt, shrank and shriveled
and lulled these creatures off
to sleep for years

Until we woke them up
broke their hibernation
with more interesting stories
and imagination, colorfully crafted
ingenious, piece after piece

Clicking and clacking away
on typewriters, keyboards
generation after generation
of irritatingly gifted writers
disturbing their peace
it had to cease...
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