The pen is motionless in my hand
And my palms are getting damp:
I've got the dreaded writer's block
When I'd like the writer's cramp.
Occasionally the muscles stir
And my hand begins to move,
But it's just another silly doodle
'Cos I'm stuck well in the groove.
There must be something I can write,
Something witty or rare
That'll make the world sit back and think,
Or at least get me out of this chair.
I could try and write about the man
At the clothing recycling bin
Who, trying to find something to wear,
Overreached and then fell in.
He must have been virtually naked
Or just incredibly thin,
For the opening is not very big at all
On a clothing recycling bin.
In what was quite a sorry affair
There was a stroke of luck
For he did have a mobile phone on which
He reported that he was stuck.
The fire brigade arrived at speed
Then, laughing, fell about
And it took them quite a while before
They were ready to cut him out.
Yet somehow it doesn't seem to work
For although the story's true
It doesn't have a proper ending
And therefore will not do!
So I screw the paper in a ball
And throw it at the clock.
Oh! it's such an awful waste of time
Suffering from writer's block.
the above work is copyright David Axton © All Rights Reserved