Email Poem

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Poem
Time has passed by since I wrote
No awards received, not even a vote
Book shelves are filled with all the best sellers
Libraries kept mine down in their cellars. 

I tossed out the old glass oil lamp
It let me down when I wrote at my camp
I was alone there, and never disturbed
Accept for those squawking blue jays, I got perturbed.

Warm inside, plenty of wood in the box
I would feed the scavengers including the fox
Plenty of writing paper and now new quills
Denture cream supply and my arthritic pills.

Maybe if I write in unique styles
There wouldn’t be frowns, only smiles
Publishes would not answer my calls
Bookstores closed their door on me at the malls. 

With a quill in hand and blue lined paper
I decided to write a mystery caper
I need a plot, but will leave out a clue 
Thought of Jekyll and Hyde, but that won’t do.

Writing is difficult, hard to make a living
No sales have been made, no one is giving
Maybe I should change my pen name
That would look better in the poet’s hall of fame. 

I dipped my quill into the ink jar
Came up with a enticing title of  ‘pappy ol’ pa’
Pappy was a word that I had to find its rhyme,
Now that my ink well is low, I am almost out of time. 

I know my poems don’t always rhyme
It’s because after dinner I always have wine.
I’ll write literature books like Longfellow
I am lost for words, I’m just too mellow. 

Sip up some liqueur for a nip and tuck
Then go for my classics and try your luck
Being a bit stuporous you’ll get through
But mine are better than Nancy Drew.

I tried writing something for a classical piece
Halfway through the music the conductor ceased
I had added words to  Bach’s Fugue in d minor
Was there something else that would be finer?

So now you can see how hard writing can be
Happy Lark is my pen name, but you don’t know me.
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