I sit and ponder, chew my pencil, wait

For God’s divine dictation.  But he’s lost

My invitation.  I thought God was great?

Don’t you check your Outlook Bro?  Double crossed

 

My dream of being a writer’s coprolitic

Occasionally I get the nerve to scribble

A line or two before the inner critic

Appears. What is this fetid anal dribble?

 

These hackneyed tropes and dull conceits. You think

This crap is Booker worthy? Get a grip!

And so, I stop, screw up the paper, sink

Into another funk, abandon ship

 

I know at 8 years old I had potential 

At forty-six I’m not entirely sure.

My writer’s block has reached the existential

There’s so much balled up paper on the floor

 

I fear it will collapse and take me with it

I’ll ossify under the boards.  They’ll root

Me out in five millennia, exhibit

Me in some museum.  A stone salute

 

To checked ambition. I’ll be classified

As half a human. On my wooden stand

The sign will read, “Completely Petrified

21st Century, Shell of a Man”

    

In the words of the Prophets, Cypress Hill

I ain’t goin’ out like that. I have spent

To long tumbling on this insane treadmill

Watching my mind decompose and ferment

 

Of being excluded from my own life choices

Of constantly heeding the ghastly taunting

From my cast and crew of inner voices

They’re always present, passing judgement, haunting

 

Me with the shameful spectre of a life

That’s ordinary. “Not world famous? Not

a star? No swimsuit model for a wife?

No hedonism on your superyacht?

 

You’re inadequate, you’re a waste of space

You should be something better, something good 

Go shove your ‘shoulds’ in sideways, there’s no place

For them here.  I am shifting to a ‘should’

 

Free zone. I’m clearing out my mental litter

And taking off my tortured artist’s cloak

I’ve never worn it well.  Fuck old and bitter

I will go with fun instead.  I will joke

 

And jape and jackanape, not mope and sigh

And rue.  I’ll point and giggle, pun and ape

I’ll limerick, ditty and rhyme. Write wry

Reflections, whimsical verse, an escape

 

For family and friends. I’ll make them laugh

That’s my goal. Life is hard enough, why add

This existential angst. No autograph

Hunters chasing me down?  Well, I’m a Dad

 

And a husband, brother and friend I’ll take

Those over fame any day. So, my pledge

Is this.  I’ll do all that I can to make

My family’s lives lighter, smoothe the sharp edge

 

Of existence.  I won’t waste so much time

Locked in my head, I’ll be mindful, present

And loving instead. And if the odd rhyme

Draws the odd smile, then that’s a life well spent