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.