It’s hazardous for me to wait
To write until it’s getting late.
I tell myself I’m stalling ’til
My Muse arrives; she surely will
Epiphanize my lazy brain,
I say, as if I hadn’t lain
Here like a worn-out metaphor
All evening, putting off the chore
Of cleverness facsimilation,
Dreaming of the celebration
When the big idea lands
And splashes on my waiting hands,
Which it never does, of course.
That creek was dammed above the source
By beavers who don’t care for rhyme,
So, once again, it’s haiku time!
I had a pup called Inspiration
He was tiny, brown and white
But he succumbed to fondulation
Now I don’t know what to write
I’m pantsless so the Inspiration Bug can bite me on leg.
This evening’s topic hasn’t R.S.V.P.’d. Though I hate to beg,
This train of thought is moving: I’m composing, but I don’t know what
The melody will sound like. Come on, I-Bug, bite me! Taste my butt!
It’s chilly in October and my legs are pimpled like a goose’s.
Maybe I should put my hospitality to better uses?
Fine. I’ll wave the hanky. I surrender. Pass my sweatpants, please?
I’m cold and out of options, plus there’s chicken skin on both my knees.
The Inspiration Bug is never coming. I accept that now.
I’m beaten. No more I-Bug. Have you met my friend, Creative Cow?
Once upon a time–
[orphan]…ONCE upon a time…
I’d thought I’d been inspired
But it seems I was mistaken.
My muse has just retired
With her ego badly shaken.
We’d planned to work together
Crafting euphonies sublime,
But now I can’t say whether
She’ll return to me in time
To finish what we’d started
Ere she fled, and if she doesn’t,
I’ll be broken-hearted
For the epic verse that wasn’t.
My verse topics aren’t exciting:
Allergies, my cat, and writing.
Probably it’s ’cause I wait
To think about it ’til too late
And midnight’s pumpkin coach-shaped head
Is rearing. I can’t go to bed
Unless I’ve posted something new,
But what’s a lazy boy to do?
I stroke the cat, suppress a sneeze,
Then lay my fingers on the keys
And just start typing ’til I’m done.
Hey, look! I wrote another one.
I thought it up and wrote it down
Before it had a chance to fade
It might have earned me much renown
Instead I’ve been again betrayed
By technological reliance
(“Local draft” means “roll the dice”)
Darn this not-so-smart appliance
Inspiration won’t strike twice