I try not to worry
I try not to fret
I try not to have
Fearsome thoughts in my head
I try to be restful
I try to be calm
I try to be peaceful
Like a hundred-pound balm
But peaceful I’m not
And calm’s but a dream
So I write silly stories
To let off some steam
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This is nothing
But a lame excuse
But blame this week’s stupor
On my difficult muse
Whatever I tried
My muse did refuse
To offer anything that
Might remotely amuse
Here it is, Sunday night
And my poem is really bad
Considering my standards
This is truly sad!
Maybe these next few days
My muse will turn to glad
And what I end up writing
Will somehow turn out rad
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There must be worse
As addictions go
But mine is to
A TV show
On The Big Bang Theory
I am sold
Leonard and Penny
Never get old
I’ve only been watching
For about a year
I’ve missed a lot
But never fear
I have caught up
With re-runs galore
So now I know
All Big Bang lore
I know I’m hooked
I actually cried
When in this season
Mrs. Wolowitz died
Amy Farrah Fowler,
Bernie, Howard, Rog
These characters rock
A comic collage
Some gags are
A bit too crude
And laughing likely
Makes me rude
But laugh I do
At every joke
Let’s face it, Sheldon’s
A wierdly charming bloke
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A late night stroll on Charleston Battery
Curious to see the lunar perigee
Less scientific folks called it a super moon
I hear it won’t happen again anytime soon
Too bad, since it was a downright lovely sight
And a real fun way to spend Saturday night
The winds and waves in Charleston Bay
Were also worth noting, and I must say
Thanks, Man in the Moon, for smiling on us all
The whole city at the waterfront, having a ball
When my muse comes down with a horrid blight
The writing goes wrong with no end in sight
Every word, thought, and sentence turns out trite
Leaving me feeling oh so contrite
And wondering if an end will appear for my impossible plight
But when the writing goes right
My muse alights
To amazing new heights
Of creative delights
Then the sun shines bright
And my mood takes flight!