The words but flowed them not
As I was cold instead of hot
Though I lament not too loudly no
Because though I lost the day
Like the Habs but did
I'm further ahead then them
As my record's far more secure
For who but writes as hard as me
Day after day
And week after week
No truth be told
I cannot say this with
The certainty
That I am alive and drawing breath
In a physical world
That is not some simulation
In some future computer
Of untold power
And complexity too
To be able to do
What those daft brainers
Have to think it capable of doing
Without no failing
For decades on end
And centuries linked together
In an unending line
Which is stupid to think indeed
And make me angry
That you'd think such a thing
That just can't be
So feck whatever science
They would claim
That makes sense of this
It's patently absurd
And stupid on its face
Like people like me
Yeah I'm going there
With the power of our imaginations
Connected as we are
To something greater
Through creativity
How could we not see
The truth behind the lie
Fine not all of us
I'll give you that
But nary a one
Eff to that I say
With a pounding fist
But on my working table
And righteous indignation
It's crazy talk
But hey
At least it gave me something good
To rightly rant about
And carry me through
A good ten minutes
And set me up well
For a goodly hour
As I need to flex my power
And get myself back
On the goodly horse
But early yes
As I hope to turn my attentions late
To further clues
For another Opportunity
At fun and excitement
Frustration and misery
Though less for me
Than for the players who play the game
So yes I'd like one of those hours
But filled with gold
As I race from 0 to a 1000
In sixty great minutes
From which I had to walk away before
And a third of the way in
I'm standing tall
With a goodly chance
At filling the room
With that desired gold
As the count but showed me yes
I was on my way
To the goodly harvest
Of half a field
Which is the yield
That I need though thirty
To claim that gold for me
So to the writing hard
I go but yes I do
As I must eschew
The writing of any stories
That I might otherwise begin
Because I'd have to slow it down
When the idea
But waiting for me
To take it a ways
Is only weakly there
And not strong enough
To help me win
What remains of the hour
That I wish to win
Though I suppose I could begin
To write that story
For what's the worst
That could happen yes
But that I'd fall but short
Of a furious pace
That I need but most
For goodly pride
As the worst I'll do now
In this hour yes
Is harvest what
8 long rows
Which is enough but still
For a winning harvest
If I can keep it thus
Through all four quarters
Which I surely can
And wham kaplow
I feel it now
Even though
It's still but right around the corner
I haven't actually written
A thousand words of verse
But I surely will
For I've five good minutes left
And nary a word but left to write
Or so I think
Before the field is harvested
For I've just swung
My Sweet good Baevalon
Yes fast and true enough
That a field and more
Like at least a row
If not two
Are to be felled
In Before the hour's up
Because I am feeling it yes indeed
Yeah I harvested that full good field
But not the row or two
As I failed to do that
At least in the immediacy
As this later bit
Will take me past that 11th row
Where I will pause the writing
And draw a drawing or two
After which
I do not know right now
As I could do
A number of goodly things
But as you know
I will be back
And in my absence
I wish you well
As ever and always
For how does your happiness
Negatively effect my own
Tick tick tick
Time is ticking down
To quarter's end
So I should but write
Yes quick quick quick
Before it's over
To make the coming 4th
Just a little easier
Though I can surely write enough
In the hours to come
I've thought that before
And been wrong indeed
So it's time to bleed
Just a little bit
Because the empty quarters
Don't sit sit right with me
Not that just a little poetry
Sits right either
But with the flow but flowing yes
Like it's strong and true
I might just do
Enough of this writing
Which is the slowest form of writing
Even when the flow
Is at its best
And the words are coming as lines
Like a gift from above
Instead of the deeper part
Of my poet's mind
At least that's the thought of course
There's no telling
That this will be reflected
In the goodly doing
As time is flowing fast
As far as the current harvest
Is yes concerned
Though the flow would surely be helped
By the goodly telling
Of the story I started
Earlier in the day
That I kept away
From the earlier posting
As it's but handful of story verse
Though if you insisted
With a please Mr. Petrie
Can we have some story time
Because we luv your rhyme
And we'd really like to read
What you've written today
About a story which
We know nothing about
But are so curious
That we're ready to read
However much you've gotten done
Or words to that effect
Because I'm certain sure
That any want
Will be quiet yes
So I suppose I should write
Before the night
But comes to an end
Though I was content enough
With the harvest today
To have ended it at the harvest size
That I had until now
And yet here I am
In search of something
To write about
Because nothing's coming to mind
But there's a message
Saying I got an oh so rare comment
I should but read it
Because it's sure to be
Meaningful to me