The Blowhard
A sit before a screen or page and muse most momentarily
it seldom takes a minute more for it seems I’m always stewing
amazed at this, afraid of that, annoyed beyond endurance
with pen in hand or keyboards click, I truss the image up.
I tie the brash in blades of grass, I soundly trounce the villain
I’m so much happier in my mind, writing’s so fulfillin’
It is not hard to find the place the person or the scheme
to rant about, to cajole, the world is truly full of such
a never ending cavalcade of colors and of earthly joys
all I need is time and space and on and on I can elucidate
though the value maybe little oh how I enjoy it.
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