Letter to Oscar (Poetry)

Dear Oscar, oh if only I’d been given half your wit!
Having studied all your work, convinced I’d glean some style from it
I’m now sitting here dejected, spirit broken, feeling glum
My manuscript is dog-eared, stained with coffee, roughly-thumbed.

Returned in its brown envelope, the edges bashed and worn
The comp slip barely legible, its scribble smacks of scorn —
“Your plot’s rather predictable — it reads a tad too trite
Much careful editing required — suggest you should re-write.”

Oh Oscar, well — I ask you! How can any writer bear
The wounding words of philistines too ignorant to care
They’ve crushed my creativity?— It’s lying here stone dead
My pen’s more like a pistol held unsteady to my head!

I’m considering my future face to face with the blank page
My mind awash with anguish (the quiet aftermath of rage)
And I think about the ballad that you wrote in Reading gaol
My determination’s rising, for comparisons all pale...

I marvel how you managed to engage the Muse’s ear
When the weight of your predicament was odiously clear
You led by that example — it’s a lesson to us all
How adversity provokes us when our back’s against the wall.

Your poem is a classic, for it truly was inspired
(Oh, if only my small efforts might be so well-admired!)
But, to borrow from your metaphor, I see in my mind’s eye
The window of eternal hope — that bright blue square of sky.

So I will press on regardless, for rejection is no crime
(I’m working on a psychic link, if you could spare the time)
Meanwhile, these earnest thoughts I share, and more importantly
My fond regards to celebrate your anniversary.