I wrote this some time ago...
The uninspired.
I decided one day that with words I`m au fait,
so a playwright or poet I`d be.
With knowledge and age I`d become a great sage,
and Brecht would have nothing on me.
With typewriter empty but paper a-plenty.
I loaded a virgin white sheet,
then I sat back and thank, but the brain remained blank,
and stayed so for nearly a week.
I surveyed with black rage that unsullied page,
it taunted and dared me to write.
I thought and I fought, but came there still nought
to blacken that paper of white.
"Too quiet, that`s what wrong", I stuck out my tongue,
banged my head on the wall, shook my fist.
I stared in despair at that sheet sittin` there.
Said "Sod it, I`m gonna get pissed."
I put on my hat, walked out of the flat
and pub-wards I went for a drink.
With people about, and a good feed of stout,
I might just be able to think.
"Time gentlemen please!" I was down on my knees.
I managed to crawl to the door.
With help from friend Pete, I got to my feet,
but threw up all over the floor.
In a pub when you`re sick, it`s fantastic how quick
you discover the pavement is hard.
Whilst rubbing my lip, I heard a wee quip,
"Don`t ever come back mate, you`re barred!"
On return to my room that unwritten poem
in defiance evaded it`s birth.
My moggie`s eyes flashed, thro` the window it crashed
down two or three storeys to earth.
When I heard breaking glass, my temper turned crass,
and my typewriter followed the cat,
heard a pitiful yelp or a vague cry for help,
Thought "Bollocks to writing, that`s that!"
Thro` hazy blood red and devilish dread
I`d apparently finally cracked.
The bedroom was slashed, the whole kitchen smashed,
and anything handy was wrecked.
I really felt bad about that wee lad,
and glad that the boy didn`t croak.
Tho he ne`er held a grudge, he said to the judge,
"Flying QWERTY machines are no joke"
Tho` the sentence not light and asylum doors tight
An inmate, a shrink, said "Don`t fear...
It`s all home from home, you`ll get help with your tome.
`cos we`re all bloody crazy in here."
So if you wish to succeed, as an author, take heed.
Just plough on and don`t even stop.
Don`t drink to think, and don`t even blink.
Just scribble down any old crap!
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