The First Draft Blues

The dreaded first draft
Is going so slowly
I’m so unproductive
It makes me feel lowly

The characters unformed
The plot’s just a mess
The story so far?
This must be a test

With each book this happens
I have to keep going
Write some each day
All the time knowing

That I’ll start to like it
One wonderous day
Writing stops being work
And starts to be play

Oh, when will I get to
That glorious point?
I do hope it’s soon
Cuz my mood’s out of joint

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And You Thought My Poetry Was Weird?

This here is my latest
Piece of home décor
Which most normal sane people
Will consider and deplore

Why is this odd woman
Collecting sticks and trees?
She thinks that this looks good?
Oh dear, oh my, oh please!

But yes, I do like it
Though my taste is rather strange
And all those sticks were free
So I can always rearrange

The visual pleases me
I added each twig just so
So will I ever change this?
Right now I’m thinking, no.

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Make Room for Betty

You would think
That by now I’d learn
That in bed
When I toss and turn

Every toss gives
The cat more space
At every turn
She does replace

Where my legs were
Under the covers
With her own bulk
If she had her druthers

One tiny small spot
I’d be given
Betty the cat says
Now that’s livin’!

A queen-sized bed
Lets me stretch way, way out
But my poor human
Does tend to pout

She insists that she get
At least half of the bed
What silly ideas
Cindy gets in her head!

So she actually moves me
And I’m forced to share
And Cindy insists
That this is fair!

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Whimsical Wednesday: Betty’s Soul Mate by Penny

So Penny Hibshman has a new poem in response to our cat Betty.  Thanks Penny!

Betty has a soul mate
Her name is Abigail
Her internal clock
Is never known to fail.

To say that she is portly
Is truly being kind
For if she thought she’d lost a pound
She’d find it close behind.

She has a way of walking
That has to be a fluke
When you’re watching from behind
You’d swear she was “The Duke”.

She’ll waddle to the kitchen
Belly hanging low
When she makes a sudden stop
It wobbles to and fro.

When she thinks she’s getting fed
She gets so stimulated
I’ve never seen a whirling top
so well emulated.

She really does enjoy her food
She fussy on the timing
The fact she isn’t twice as big
Is really quite surprising

Fall back and then spring forward
you’ve heard the little rhyme
to help you with untimely woes
in daylight savings time.

That extra hour is handy
running late and in a crunch
But Abby’s only worry is
the lateness of her lunch.

Published with Permission of the Author
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Blog Fog

Every Sunday
I promise a rhyme
But what’s been happening
Much of the time

Before I know it
Sunday is here
And it’s happened again
Just as I feared

I have no topic
For this week’s blog
A poem about what?
My mind is a fog

No subject strikes me
Any theme fly away
So my lack of ideas
Is the theme for today

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Betty’s Lament

Betty the cat’s got
An internal alarm
Which she insists
Is greatly harmed

When we switch the clock
And lose Daylight Savings
Her stomach however
For dinner is craving

A whole hour before
I will let her eat
Resisting her pleas-
It is quite a feat

Forget what the clock says
Betty’s tummy cares not
She meows and meows
Cindy, why have you forgot?

It’s five o’clock somewhere
So feed me my dinner
Lest I become
More upset and way thinner

I’ll waste clear away
If the clock you obey
What must I do
For your resolve to be swayed?

But finally I feed her
What joy, what relief!
For Betty then stops
Meowing her grief

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