The house is quiet, the end of day,
my wife and kids are far away.
In spite of all, and come what might,
I seize the chance to sit and write.
I take my old and trusty pen,
I’ve had it since I don’t know when,
a fresh new page is put in place;
it’s white and large, with empty space.
To help the mind get up and go,
to help aesthetic juices flow
and help my humble prowess shine,
I think I’ll take a glass of wine.
So now it’s time to settle down
and pen this verse of great renown;
majestic words to fill the page,
which echo down through time and age.
But nothing comes, no lilting verse,
no thoughts invade my universe;
no inspiration comes to pass.
Perhaps I’ll take another glass.
Oh dear I seem a bit confused
and stumble over words I used.
So, quick, before the close of play,
I take my pen and write away.
Next morning comes, with bloodshot eyes,
I strain to read my crafted prize
with words well tuned and erudite.
But what I see gives quite a fright:
I dream of your bodily beaut,
I find you so cuddly and cute.
It’s oh, such a shame,
I can’t play your game.
You see, I’m ash pished ash a newt!
~
For Carol's Competition.
The people who only eat lettuce
and nibble some nuts from a bowl,
are totally, utterly tiresome;
this ‘smugger-than-thou’ rigmarole.
But me? I am rather old fashioned
and faddy foods don’t pass my lips.
I’ll tell you one thing that I fancy,
a juicy great steak – and some chips.
I like a wee nip of the whisky,
a malt and I beg with no ice;
so will you just make it a double.
I don’t think I’d call it a vice.
I’m partial to wine from the Touraine,
a dry little number will do.
And then I enjoy a good claret,
all ancient and Premier Cru.
Now! Who are these creatures for supper?
Their surnames, I think I have missed.
Dear God! What a dreary young couple.
Shank goodnesh, I’ve got them both pished!
~
For Elliott Bowe's 'Drunken Pen' Competition.