Whose Muse

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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Emmy or Oscar?

I’d love to put Jessie
Onto a screen
Whether TV or silver
Has yet to be seen

I may be biased
But I really do know
The Cue Ball Mysteries
Would make a great show

The characters are quirky
The dialogue snappy
Many LOL moments
To make people happy

A Cue Ball mini-series
Wouldn’t that be neat?
It would keep every viewer
Glued right to their seat

So hey, TV directors
Why not discover me?
This show will win Emmys
Just wait and see

Or if anyone knows anyone
In movie production
I’d give my right arm
For a friendly introduction

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Visions of Final Revisions

Close to last revision
Is now underway
Then my beta readers
Will get a say
About what should go
And what should stay
What to keep
Or take away
Hopefully for most
They’ll say a “Yay”
But I count on them
To offer some “Nays”
I’ll take it back
And on those sections play
Looking forward
To that day
And then I will say
Zippity doo-da
Hip, hip, hooray!

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Four Play Soon, Someday

It will be done in September, I say
And then I work on it day after day

When I’ll be through, nobody knows
This is how writing a book for me goes

Rough draft stinks, nothing new there
When I re-read it I try not to swear

It calls for revision, three times at least
Before I am at all with it pleased

Then some friends will read it through
Giving me more ideas to think of anew

But soon after that the book will be done
Ready to see the light of the sun

This one’s called Four Play, due out real soon
But please don’t expect it tomorrow at noon

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The Twittering Blues of a Twittering Fool

My time lately I have been frittering
Because I spend it all on twittering

Tweeting I guess is the proper word
At first I found it rather absurd

But it ‘s a hoot and a blast, and now I like it
So much so that I can’t seem to quit

My novel needs writing and there’s dishes to do
Just one more tweet I say, and then I’ll be through

And don’t get me started on my follower quest
I’ll reach 10,000, and then maybe rest

140 characters to say something new
Yep. I’m addicted, I admit it, it’s true

@cbmysteries is the handle I’m using
Come on by if followers you’re choosing

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Funny Definition of Fun

Front matter, back matter
As we put my books in print

My brain begins to feel like
It is full of lint

Hubby is the patient one
He reminds me of a saint

He sits for hours pondering details
And does so without complaint

What about back cover content, he asks
The color of quotes and blurbs?

He shows me the thousands of choices
And I try not to think it’s absurd

But we finally get it together
He told me it could be done

My book is going to look perfect
And delirious hubby will say it was fun

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Why I Love Summer

The sights I see off of my dock,
Let me just sit here and take accurate stock.
Sailboards, and canoes, and kayaks galore
And every other kind of boat, you name it, for sure.

No yachts, but who needs something so big
When one can ski behind a much smaller rig?
Pontoon boats and power boats pull kids all ages and sizes.
Everyone has fun, but no one wins prizes.

The waterfowl need no help staying afloat.
They probably laugh at all of us fools in a boat.
Loons, and merganzers, a gull, and ducks mallard.
It’s the birds that inspired this ridiculous ballard.

The water itself is a fabulous sight
The lake gets all sparkly under brilliant sunlight
And the waterlillies bounce upon the waves so mild
Is it any wonder I’ve loved this place since I was a child?


No poem last week, too busy driving
The two day trek to Vermont, where I’m now thriving

Gardening, canoeing, and writing galore
How I’ll spend my summer, of that I am sure

Our shack up here we’ve named Daydream Cottage
Hubby and cat and I love it a lottage

The porch is where I’m at most of the time
Watching ducks and loons, all most sublime

The internet is hit or miss, with no TV at all
So much seclusion and quiet. I’m having a ball!

Comma Trauma

I’ve never been the Queen of Drama,
But the Oxford Comma
Causes me stress, strain, and trauma.

Semi-colons by comparison are easy;
Their rules are far less breezy.
No need to get all ill, upset, or queasy.

Periods don’t take a whole lot of thought.
They never make me even mildly distraught,
Happily aiding my characters, dialogue, and plot.

What about exclamation points, the curious might ask.
Are they apt to lead you to the flask?
No. Not even those are a chore, job, or task.

Sweet little colons are also not too bad
I use them so seldom; they make me not sad.
And as this poem finds an end, aren’t you happy, joyful, and glad?

But comma dilemmas really haunt me a lot.
The nuances of usage I still do not got.
But enough of this silliness, absurdity, and rot.