(A piece composed years ago, but for which I yet remember the reason 'twas penned.)
O' white Fright...
Is the red stripe down your side
The blood of countless, hapless students?
Your pallor infects my mind,
Turns off the creative tap;
You rid my tongue of words to say.
Thou horrid rectangle!
Straight from the 2-dimensional Hades.
Made from living forests
Which flourished, but for you...
But die... oh, die!
By the ink of my pen,
The Weapon in hand.
Write I shall 'til the blanks are filled,
'Til the blue lines groan under weighty prose.
Blank no more, yet improved.
Spared are you the fire, the trash-bin;
The words entrenched on your face
Bestow color, interest and enough value
That folks will read what they once overlooked.
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Comments: 3
This is the battle cry of all writers; writer's block be damned!:)
Thank you for the kind words, Nancy.
Very nice and very clever.