In honor of Dr. Seuss' birthday a little tribute I wrote last year. It's a little of this and a little of that, but it might bring a laugh for my writerly gaffs.
At the far end of the table
where the toast crumbs lack butter
and the grimy dishes gather in piles
and no speech is heard except hollow
was the quarter of the Solitary
And deep behind the toast crumbs, you
if you dare believe, instead of flee,
where the Writer once wrote
what dreams she dared float
before someone stole the hope away.
Who was the Writer?
And why did she work?
And why was she solitary in midnight
at the end of the table where the
toast crumbs lack butter?
The mouse still sets in the murk.
Ask it. It knows.
The mouse won’t speak.
Don’t left click its button.
It rests on the pad, no glutton
for devious cluckin’.
Its batteries glow on low,
don’t you know,
except for certain dull Tuesdays
in the middle of winter
when the moon casts its rays
toward the laptop’s dark screen.
Then the mouse might reveal
the fate of the Solitary Writer
before hope faded away.
It all started way back …
Such a long time ago …
Way back in the days when the agents were
and editors did glean
the words to forward careers most
When six figure advances appeared by
and publishers said welcome dear
That was when the glorious words
onto paper and laptop, from opening
lines to finishing chapters.
The bright sparkling words, volumes
producing not tears but laughter.
And among the words, the nouns did
before the hope did die away.
The verbs hopped and rumpled, all
active by far.
With no tellerous was-ing to lower
To agents the query letters were let
fly most trustful.
Until day by day, month by month
came the sickening smack by the
of scabulous ‘no’s’, so disgustful.
The Writer said nothing. Just hung
down her head.
No more words. No more nouns. No more
verbs to be tried.
She silently faded away, the hope had
Hearts of pride can only bleed.
On the screen, the curser blinked one
Until someone like you reads a whole
it won’t be bought.
So read for the Writer. Treat her
words with care.
Give them much praise. Put forth
comments that dare.
Let no book lack.
Then the Writer
and all of her friends
may come back.