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Äŧül Feb 8
You can experience it
Coming from most of
The writers around the
Block of Writers Block
Only to be saved by the
Bunch of Writers from
The Writers' Block.

They can call you names,
Ranging from A ******
To A Grammar ****.
But don't be put off,
Don't be put out,
Just hold on.
Hold your ground.

You might have OCD,
The Obsessive Compulsive Disorder,
Don't worry - just channel it well.
Channel it well and play your tunes,
Don't worry about the runes,
They will be all covered with ink.
Yes, the electronic ink.

For all eternity, they say,
You can never achieve perfection,
And it should not concern you.
Just remember your wordlust,
Coin new and better words,
Just play your sweet lute.
Yes, you are so cute.

"What's so cataclysmic about the apostrophe?"
You asked me,
And legitimately so.
It's the difference 'tween us,
Perfection and poets,
Godliness and humaneness.
Divinity and profanity.

"Yes, perfection is sacrilege,"
I say, "Perfection is an ambition,"
"Of humanity and nature."
I take a deep breath before saying,
"In the knowledge available,"
"It's just a figment."
You ask me, "Where is it located?"

I say:
Find it 'fore some letters,
You can find it afta' some letters,
Lockin'n'poppin words together,
The apostrophe is so savoury & flexible
I just hope that I never become,
A Grammar Apostate -
I'll rather be ill instead.
My HP Poem #1732
©Atul Kaushal
Brent Kincaid Nov 2016
I try so hard to be loving
But there are a folks
That I just don’t like.
I mean it, no jokes.
They’re mean and nasty
And loudly unkind.
To like such people means
I would need to be blind
And deaf and mute and
Completely out of my head.
So, I think I’ll just go on
Disliking them instead.

I mean, what the heck?
I’m not all that spiritual.
It’s not like I am a very
Overtly saintly individual.
On a scale of one to ten
I’m probably an eight
And most of my neighbors
Aren’t even that great.
And it’s not really a contest
From the very beginning
So what sense is there
In working hard at winning?

Some believe in heaven
And others believe in ****.
Well, I know both of those
Two places very well.
I used to live in the Midwest;
‘******’ was a polite word.
Just about the nicest version
Ot that epithet I ever heard.
Where **** and Jews
Might just as well go die
Because all good Midwesterners
Would sneer as they went by.

Oh, and if you were a Christian
You had better be the right sect.
Don’t try to pass as godly
If you religion ever genuflects.
And don’t be a Democrat there
Because that is plainly wrong.
And marrying between races
Bubba beats your head like a gong.
I think it might be better
For me to just be who I am.
Trying to act like a Republican
Just gets me into a big jam.

I don’t want to go to heaven
If hypocrites get to go there.
I’d get thrown right out
I’d knock them off the stair.
Of course, if they get in
That means something is awry.
So, maybe Saint Peter
Had better just pass me by.
Anyway, I sort of found heaven
In a chocolate cheesecake.
Just leave me alone with one.
That’s about all it takes.

— The End —