i havent written anything in ages,i sit inspirationless pen hovering above blank pages
my creative juices have evaporated,i'm mentally constipated, thoughts stagnated trapped in a room thats locked and gated.My minds a black hole in which ideas evolve
but getting them out's an enigma stephen hawking could'nt solve.i'll hire an imaginary crop sprayer and take off on a sortee i'll spray my brain with laxative and wd40.But it could be too much and i'll realise my fears my brain will be crushed under a deluge of ideas,i'll go to the doctor and ask for a lotion ''sure rub some of this on your head son,it's called thousand notion potion''.my brain is like a boiler thats about to blow'i need a tiny plumber,with a tiny wrench to release it very slow,but if it breaks off too quickly,no refuge can be sought he can ski to safety on an avalanche of ideas a thinking mans olympic sport.If all my efforts fail at cerebral extrusion,then sad as it is i'm left with only one conclusion,i'll hang up my quill and pay the tiny plumbers extortionate bill.As sure as a boxer who loses his arms is no longer a fighter a poet who does not use his pen is no longer a writer
Categories:
extortionate, anxiety,
Form: Rhyme
I can apprehend your thirst for annihilation
Your appetite to proliferate terror
To gratify your alter ego
To guarantee your supremacy
To drop bombs on beings above suspicion
To burn their unique meager crops
To demolish their eggshell havens
To confiscate their few vendibles
To kill their licit long-planned dreams
To haunt their minds
To shred their long -conceived hopes
To chain their legs and ears reverberate
Yet if you should actually do
Point your extortionate,sophisticated weapons
To poverty,hunger,misery,illnesses,homelessness...
For remember one of your trailblazing armored cars
Could meet the needs of many wretched souls
Chase angst from their forlorn,woeful profiles.
Categories:
extortionate, war,
Form: Free verse
Debauched, extortionate and inconstant
was the knavish and foul mercenary?
The perfidious praetorian reprobate
was a venal unscrupulous slug.
Debased in character and depraved in spirit
this purveyor of evil tended to his wicked ways.
Morally spoiled, he was a putrid putrescent
and an aberration to integrity.
Nefarious and tainted in character,
he infected the soul.
Treacherous and two-faced,
underhanded and unethical,
debased and unprincipled,
this snide poor excuse to humanity
defined the meaning of "corruption."
Categories:
extortionate, angst, introspection, life, on
Form: Narrative