poetic prose IP: 71.175.22.13 Posted on February 22, 2018 at 10:13:28 PM by wishbone4nihilist
My Muck Cob Brie - cheesy poem
Yea of course writing ideas
unstoppably burst asunder
at the most inconvenient
opportunities such as
driving Miss Daisy,
taking a shower, or
using the bathroom.
Accursed ambition
becoming a prolific
scrivener (case
in point Stephen King)
Woolworth ridding,
oddly lumbering
lackadaisically shoe
horning out this
being from a self
made gully. The jury
yet to decree if attempting
to extricate
muss elf from tangled web
of decades
old setbacks via literary
output successful.
Every morning, noon
and night, this chap
blunders, flounder,
(like a phish out of water),
yet plod his shipshape
reclusive quiet-natured
person along the boulevard
of broken dreams.
Oft times, huff hind
aye muss elf entering The
Dead Zone (bordering
a Pet Sematary). Earlier,
a previous saunter
found me surmounting
The Green Mile. Attendant
in regard to these
Bag Of Bones, and
Desperation to acquire
telephone contact with
Cell phone quickens
pace despite Insomnia.
No matter unexpected
Sleeping Beauties war
rant kisses, my determination,
motivation, and slight
trepidation occasionally breeds
(The Dark Half), doomsday facet heftily jackknifing lust.
Occasionally, a feeble
goading simply under minds
any corporeal aim to restore
endeavor to experience
Joyland. IT (creative juices
within spur meeting Rose
Red and her restorative
powers. Onward atheistic
soldier goes this chap.
No matter tipping point (vis
a vis hungry fatigued
body clamors for Needful Things.
Revival (for food and sleep)
frequently appears grim.
Downcast state of body,
mind and spirit reinforced
by mirage. The Dark Tower
looms ahead! Adjacent
to ominous evil looking
structure silhouette casted
of a Black House. The initial
ambition to ward off
abysmal results summon
forth creative literary juices.
Simultaneously a
migraine headache pounding
pitted LIX.
They hammer horrifically,
ferociously, and diabolically.
Shades of shad rock Under
The Dome. Ma noggin
aches like The Tommy
knockers! Every attempt to locate
a royal crowning coeval
counterpart jinxed with laborious
ill luck. Hell in a hand basket
plight usually generates
nostalgia for destiny to
Carrie be back to Ole Virginny.
Sage advice from Christine,
Delores Claiborne, or The
Colorado Kid, yours truly
blithely heeded. As a result
(The Outsider within this
paperback writer wannabe)
sports defeat written all over face. Concomitant figurative
futility gussies and kickstarts
leaving invisible pockmarks.
Ordinary Dreamcatcher fate
invariably finds aptly named
Writer Errs Block. Need to
back track arises (figuratively)
along vista. The roads have
no name. They command
stubborn respect. Near
impossible mission manifested
to transcend mental hindrance.
This more difficult than
playing Gerald's Game.
Hence sigh embrace The Shining
opportunity to avoid Misery.
Doctor Sleep would undoubtedly
encourage braving, challenging self confronting The Eyes
Of The Dragon. Such a
risky pursuit could force facing
pitbull Cujo. No matter
gamble foisted prospect
fraught frightfully
being burned at the stake
by a Firestarter. Voluntary action
brings small hairs to tingle.
Hunchback, sans severely curved
spine straightens. This
(The Stand) ding pose
offered supreme
vision as promised by
The Talisman. Tidbits
by me alias
Mr. Mercedes carefully reddit
Just in case The Girl Who Loved
Tom Gordon chanced
to stumble upon this
redoubt versus
her hours spent staring
at a blinking cursor. Metaphorical
po' wet ick feet took me
where they would.
Replies: There have been no replies.
You must register before you can post on this board. You can register here.