Alas.  Absolutely NOTHING is inspiring.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCLIII)


Firs hang their boughs in silence as in pale
Excuse it looks like some big snowman thence
Erm, toppled by whom, eh? lies headless hence
Upon the "island's" rim cuz oh, t'avail
Last weekend some tried to move snow sans bail,
As la, his forklift needed to fr'intents
Be wrestled from captiv'ty, as for sense
The icy pile swore it would NOT move, hale.
Now as a fragile touch of pink'd bestir
Itself to trick out blank racks 'cross the view,
Likeas a chalkboard blushing faintly fer
Effect, what drives me to complain?  Naught woo.
Nor have I watched aught movies.  What, as twere,
Culls this dull sense that nary joys now cue?

07Mar19c

When you’re not newly or madly in love
When no new thrill has come your way
When the sunset is hidden by the smog
And the draught has killed all the flowers

What do you write about

When you’ve suffered no great disappointment
When you’ve won no award or any prize
When you haven’t gambled on love and lost
And the mountains you’ve climbed are just hills

What do you write about

When inspecting your navel is boring
When you can’t really tell how you feel
When you can’t see the humor in pratfalls
And nothing exciting has happened

What do you write about

When everyone you know remains healthy
When the trees in the woods are just trees
When the butterflies don’t visit your garden
And the hummingbird feeder’s abandoned

What do you write about

When you reach for the stars but can’t touch them
When you hear the song but can’t sing it
When you stare at your blackboard and it’s empty
And you’ve run out of ink for your pen

What on Earth do you write about.
ljm