It’s been a while since I’ve posted and I know some of you wonder if I’ve perished from the earth. Not really, but I just haven’t had any inspiring thoughts or events lately that would interest my readers. Maybe it’s my boring life, or my inherent laziness or the sobering fact that I am a literary lightweight. In any case, I feel like I should at least reach out to you in some fashion. Usually, when my mind goes blank for subjects to talk about, I can still come up with some poetry (rhyme really, so as not to demean the real poets among you) to further my blog efforts. That is what I am going to do here. The subject: writer’s block, what else?

Robert William Service 1874-1958

For those of you who are interested, lately I have enjoyed writing poems in the style of Robert Service, also known in literary circles as the “people’s poet.” His style, though not well accepted in the elite levels of poetic enclaves, is one of “rhyme within a rhyme”. You might want to read one of his most acclaimed poems “The Cremation of Sam McGee” if you get the chance. It is a charming tale of a displaced southerner who finds himself in the cold climes of the Yukon. It deals with his dying wish. Quite a humorous twist at the end.

Anyway, back to my latest effort:

Though I think and I try,  the ink is all dry, that word well seems to be spent,

I want to regale you, but more often I fail you, as my wit has got up and went.

It’s been many a week, that my writing’s been bleak, as phrases no longer appear,

But I hope you still follow, though the blog has been hollow, because losing you is my fear.

So, I offer this rhyme, just to fill in some time, and to let you know I’ll endeavor,

To keep up your trust, as I work through the rust, and once again become clever.

Blogging’s been fun, and I’m still far from done, but this dry spell has me perplexed,

 And try as I might, it’s been too long a blight, I’ve never before felt so vexed.

Just why my wryness, has turned into dryness, is something I don’t understand

But I won’t post some drivel, or something uncivil, for the sake of not being bland.

I’ll look to the future, with hopes I can suture, this wound of my delicate psyche,

And come up with a post, that my readers will toast, and say “that’s his best one, by crikey!”