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Poem

Artistic drought.

 I parked outside the doctors 
and slowly went inside 
the only thing that hurt me  
was deep inside, my pride. 

The lady took my details 
I had alot to tell, 
the waiting room was busy 
full of people sick, unwell. 

I sat on Mr hard chair 
it stabbed my soft behind 
I glanced up at the ceiling 
prayed the doctor to be kind. 

At last and I was taken, 
shown through a big oak door, 
"sit down my friend and tell me 
which part of you is sore." 

"Oh Doctor you can help me 
of that there is no doubt." 
"What seems to be the trouble?" 
"I have Artistic Drought." 

"My God you silly fool
you completly waste my time, 
do you know how much I earn 
by each hour that is chimned!" 

"You sit in here and tell me 
your poetry has dried up!" 
"Well there"s the door you fool 
and never mind the buts!" 

"I specialize in medicine 
yes that"s my only goal, 
I don"t deal so much in poetry 
or matters of the soul." 

"You need to see a specialist 
someone with more decorum,
I know the very people 
just try a poetry forum."

"They help you once and allways 
of that there is no doubt, 
they hand out good advice 
to help Artistic Drought." 

and so I set off happy 
relaxed and not a frown 
artistic juices flowing..... 

   and you know 
I think I"ll write this down.

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