I write a lot but not Here,
I have copious spiral notebooks
Maybe someday to be read by my darling Dear.
I always have a way to notate
That is, when desperate not to lose a thought;
I can step into a pub
Grab a cuppa and write on a napkin there.
I write much with a fantasy and some will like it
Or I will get a random call from an Agent
Who wants to finance and spice it.
I see many wrong without self-discipline
Yet most would tune-out my scholastic say,
So I write therefore to those in power with sway.
I write a lot and compose every day,
My sleep is often disturbed,
By ideas in-waiting
For the next day’s keyboard printed word.
I waste time dreaming
Someone will discover
Wanting to pimp my wordcasts!
I meditate after lights-out
Only to sometimes toss and turn about;
I then turn again to the notebook on the night table
Fumble for the light and pen,
Several implements are ready for ever when
“Oh, What was I dreaming of again?!”
Ah yes the sub-conscious has yet to close this night
I remember much of the dream
Her lips and hips
Her hair always aware!
I write a lot and get nothing
My purpose unclear but near,
I write every day in my notebooks
A shopping list or reminder to do that or this;
My bible is my personal wordcasting network,
A thought tank of personal bliss.
Maybe not as fast but surely as loose!
Yes, Da!
I write upon the shoulders
Of nursery rhymes like “Mother Goose”!
Often in my musical disc-jockey mind
Come songs when I want to sleep.
I write here to possibly little Bo-Peep.
Relieve them from that anti-slumber thought-creep;
I muse much here but didn’t want to get too deep!
No apology without answers;
No sorry without solutions!
No excuses without empathy.
We’ve limited success pushing upward against almighty gravity.