I failed to stay
Amongst the rightly honoured
As I fell but short
Of winning day and week
When I got so certain sure
And lost the the right
To think that little much more
The better yes
For the goodly grades
That I knew a time or eight
Throughout my high school years
As I was shaping myself
To a writer's future
Now I can get right back
On this personal honour roll
With the kind of week
I always aim to have
With a goodly swinging
Of sweet Baevalon
That results in the desired harvest
But it won't be easy
And the failure of this week just past
Will ever remain with me
As I can always look back at my records
Incomplete as they are
And see the weeks
That both measured up
And those that didn't
So will I get myself back
On the right good path
Of honour yes
Or fall but ever further off
Only time will tell
But I always like to think
It will end but well
To the words I be
As the demands of poetry
Are such that yes
I must press
And press again
To write the goodly rhyme
Even more but so
Than with goodly prose
Or ho hum practice
And this I do
With a goodly joy
But usually yes
So merrily on I go
Only here and now
I'm caught in my thoughts
Thinking what If I do that instead
And this particular that
Which has me wanting
To set the writing aside
And write some clues
To a good new game
That just poured out of my head
That I want to pursue right now
While it's calling out to me
But louder than the poetry
And yet
I want to make my way back
To the goodly ranks
Of the honour roll
That I was on
For the whole good year
Until I fell but off
Just last night
As I failed to write
Enough goodly words
Which was a stupidly high amount
That I would have written
Had I kept pressing
As hard as I was
Before the hour eight
But that's on me
With just a little more effort
Spread throughout the week
And I wouldn't have needed
To press so very hard
One night ago
Which would have kept me on
That goodly roll of honour
Now I can absorb
A certain number of days
Where I lose
And still but win the week
Like how I started
That week just past
Where I failed in the harvest
Of even two good fields
As I fell just a little short
By less than half a row
Which would have helped
In how much I had to write
Late last night
Though also
Has I even managed
To write but more
Before the final quarter
My failings of the night
Wouldn't have mattered the same
But that all happened
So here I am now
Lamenting my failings
When the many sailings
That I did last week
Were nigh but nearly
Yes good enough for me
To win the week
As for today
Where I currently sit
Towards that end
The one where I need to be back again
By the end of the week
That is the 15th starting
And ending the 21st
I stand but well
As the first good count
Of this here quarter
Saw me just a little short
Of 14 rows
Which means of course
If I continue to swing
Sweet Baevalon
Just a little longer
For another 4 rows
Then I'll be an easy harvest away
From winning the day
And yes
I did just say
What you think I said
13 rows
Is an easy harvest
When for many it isn't
Like had I needed
That precious little
A night ago
I'd have sailed right past
The goodly finish line
Feeling fine
About how I'd spent the writing week
Though to be perfectly clear
I'd not all damn
And shaking my fist at me
About the week just past
Because I was close
It's more about
A little more here
A little more there
But sprinkled throughout
Those seven goodly days
And I would have the week
And stayed upon the roll
Of well earned honour
Now is there more to be gained
By the pressing forward
With the demands of verse
Or is there more gain
By trying to write enough clues
For even a one-off game
Of guess the year
From the Petrie clue
See the aim but is
If you've been but here
Yes long enough
Is the writing of
A million flowing words alone
Along with whatever words
That I might write
Of practice yes
Or prose indeed
Before the year is over
But the gain in this
Is not a monetary one
While the game that I could but build
Upon this idea
Could well but help in that
Though well might be
Yes talking bigger eh
Than it'd actually be alas
So what to do
Yes what to do right now
Before I have to leave
And buy some food
As my cupboards are bare
And my stomach will come along
And say hey hey
Put some food in
I'm ready for food
And that sour my mood
If I had to fast
Because it's a known
Outside of writing
I do nothing at speed
And the decision comes on in
Write a little more
Why but make the night
One but more of the writing
Than it needs to be
As the clues can wait
Besides
The latest counting
That I just did
Saw me closing in
On the goodly harvest
Of two good fields
Which would leave me needing
For an easy bleeding
Of a single field
Spread out through
The final quarter
Which I've scarcely failed to do
Through the many nights 'til now
Okay a closer accounting
Of such shocking nights
Shows them nigh about 40
Which is more than I would have thought
Even though
I clearly lived but through them
And suffer not
From any loss
Of memory no
I just don't the photographic thing
That would allow me to close my eyes
And just see the figures
Column on column
But even that higher number
Is still but low
As even rounded up
It's only 36%
And even further
If you insist
On rounding to the nearest ten
It'd still only be
40 eh
Which leaves but sixty
And you surely know
Which one's bigger
And with that last little push
I harvested past
The goodly felling
Of two whole fields
Of goodly verse
Which is a challenging harvest
That I am surely up but to
As the fields have fallen this year
To the gaudy number
Of 328 in total eh
And it's only April
Which leaves me needing
Well you can math
Even better than me
As the actual number
Isn't served poetically
Whereas this but does
But all of this to say
It's off to the clues
In 5-4-3-2-1....
Then I hang my head
And cuss but under my breath
And say the Peach
Has demands of his own
So the clues must wait alas
As the need of drawing
Is higher yes
So that is where I'll go but now
No but not
I will win the day
And not but lose
A second straight
Because two full hours
Is more than I need
To harvest the field
And end with a goodly yield
Unlike a night ago
When I failed to harvest enough
And the result alas
Was two separate losses
Both for the hours
Of 24 and 168
But I refuse to let this be
A stupid part
Of this current day
To start another week
So I best but get to it
And write write write
Then write the more
Thar I need
To snatch the day away
From the losing track
That it had fallen on
And throw it yes
With all my might
Upon the winning one
Now there's still but more than enough time
To write in rhyme
Past the finish line
In a winning fashion
But I also need to draw as well
And that might be
Yes lost in the shuffle
Which I'd hate to let happen
Because it would still but count
As a stupid loss
Just not but one
On the writing side
So sure but sure
Not as bad as taking it on the chin
In writing again
But a loss as far drawing goes
Is also bad
As but is
Someone saying something
That isn't true
About the COVID curfew
Which sadly remains
At eight at night
And not half past nine
Which affected How but late
I left home but earlier
Which was later yes
Than the normal of the moment
Now I'm not suggesting
That whoever told me
It was later now
Was a malicious jerk
But damn and wag my finger thus
Yes in your face
You were fecking wrong
About the curfew time
And could have cost me yes
For being out past when
We had to be in
In other words
Just be careful eh
Don't say blah
If it isn't so
Though I should know
But independently of you
A wagging of my finger
In your misinformed face
I rightly point
In your specific direction
But fortunately for me
I was back at home
Yes safely before the hour passed
The time to be back
Without a goodly reason
For being out late
Which I don't have
And see the curfew
As right and good
Because of what
Is happening yes
Or scratch all that
It had been pushed back
When I was told
Of the brand new time
But it quickly changed again
And back it was
To 8 at night
So I was told the truth
When that was the fact
And now it's not again
Well guess who's here again
With his sad little look
Asking me to let him use wonky
Because I've got the lap
Which shouldn't be a thing
Because I write at the same good speed
With good means
Of writing the words
I just don't post
From Lappity no
So I'll be going
And as but ever
Wherever you're reading me
I wish you well