Poetry: Ode to the Writer

It’s Friday! The day I show off some of my own writing chops. 

Happy 100th post, too! Hard to believe I have 100 of these puppies under my belt and that it took me nearly a year to get there. Thankfully, you’re not getting rid of me THAT easily, oh no. 200 will come MUCH more quickly and hopefully have even better content than the first 100!   

I wrote this poem a while ago and I really do love it because it reminds me that writing is more a game of perseverance than anything else. 

If you don’t know anything about poetry, it is writing that is INTENDED to be read out loud, so why don’t you give a try? Read it out loud, let the words flow through your mouth and over your teeth and see what you think of it. 


Oh dear, I believe I’ve hit a wall
I’m struggling right now to get words to fall
Into place, the way I want them all
To join together and link into perfect lines.
I feel like I’m running out of time.
My brain scrambles to turn
Out the ideas. My fingers burn
To spread on the page as I churn
Through the story left to write.

So what do I do as I wait for thoughts
That don’t seem to come as fast as I need?
No matter how much I cry and plead
With my brain to get it all out so that I can weed
Through the garbage and keep the gold
So when it’s all out there and told
I know I did the best that I could
Even if most of what I write is crap
At least I can edit, so there is that.

Words on a page are just the start
Then we wade through and tear it apart
Picking and choosing the phrases we save
Watching the lines shrink on the page
And then grow to be better in every way
Than it had been before

As a writer it’s easy to forget that the first draft
Is just pushing through and working the craft
Knowing that most of the lines will be daft
And every page will be filled with crap
No matter how hard I try to cut through and slap
Some brilliance onto the page

I heard something recently from somebody smart
Who said that all good ideas only start
After the bad ones have been purged from your heart
By writing them down or speaking them out.
Either way
It’s never the first or the second one
That is kept so we have to move on
And keep the tedious plugging along
Of words on a page
Working the rhyme and the cadence
To tease out a certain elegance
To make something worth reading

So as we must, we keep the words coming
Churning and creating, we simply keep running
Typing and writing and thinking and trying
If only to stave off the inevitable crying
We feel like doing at the end of the night.
So keep on, writers, don’t give up the fight
Because great words on a page isn’t a right.
It’s a privilege earned from our long-suffered plight
Of tweaking and adjusting to wrap it up tight.
Carry on, brave writers, to get those words down
And don’t be afraid of the drivel that comes ’round
For when it’s all done, we know we’ll be found
With a page full of words of which we’ll be proud


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