A Weary Old Poet's Advice To Wannabes (Poetry)

Don’t ask me to explain myself
I rarely have a clue
and cannot really tell you why
I write the stuff I do

I could concoct a likely tale
puff literary smoke
make up a small mythology
if such deceits don’t choke

I’m at a loss why anyone
is curious to hear
when truth is far less interesting
than might at first appear

There’s simply not a lot to say
much better save some ink
for inspiration on the whole
is rarer than you’d think

The Muse is fickle — likes a joke
she teases and pretends
a poet’s gift depends upon
the odd idea she sends

But waiting for that shaft of light
can turn a chap to drink
so as I mentioned once before
it’s not the way you’d think

There is no magic formula
to charm each poem out
it’s sweat and tears — up half the night
at war with words and doubt

So if you were not born to fight
each bloody struggle through
then think again — the poet’s life
just ain’t the one for you!