Orin Parker December, 2010
Seasons Greetings, Writing strugglers
The Holiday strains us word-jugglers
We must keep your muse engaged, our writing clear
So our novels, poems and essays in print will appear . . . next year.
Happy New Year, WRITERS’ BLOC
Maybe it’s time we all took stock
We write but shouldn’t we finally admit
That what we write we must submit?
The agents are there, waiting to attack
To tell us what our word-gems lack.
What we thought we had completed
They want whole precious blocks deleted.
Looking back, what have we published?
Doug and Carlyn’s books are printed
But now they’ve left us, sprinted
North to Oregon’s nature-loving call.
Ann, your creativeness still palpitates
Your weekly chapters fascinate
We glory in your golden phrasing
And find your characters amazing
Barbara, your life and how you bare it
We’re all pleased you let us share it
You find life’s deepest meanings
As you offer up your gleanings.
Bob, your many plots are dazzling
Your use of words is raz-ma-tazzling
You surprise us, push us near the cliff
Of propriety, And always provide of wolves a whiff.
Brix, you write and we expect a lot
From your exciting Mermaid plot
Sometimes, though, we’re no help
We need goggles undersea in all that kelp.
Carol, novelist par excellence
We stand in awe of yor tal-ance
Thanks to you, our dear professor
We struggle on, more or lesser.
Claudia, your entering in our group discussion
Sobers us. You quieten our loud percussion.
You educate and inspire us in your reading
We know your published story will be leading.
Dave, your amazing tales and travels
We marvel as your complex plot unravels
But you always bring a story fantastic
To twist our minds and leave us spastic.
Eileen, your gifts are spread so wide
We’re not much help, though all have tried
We wish you well as you publicize
your art and verse. Your song is wise.
Evelyn, we miss your clever tales
Of wizards and their strange travails.
We hope you’re writing and completing
Your stories. Come rejoin us in our meeting.
George, your remembering translates
And takes us back to football greats
Exciting history, now almost lost
today . And at what a cost.
Gordon, your stories are great and poems greater
You must have an idea incubator
Our simplest precious memory detail
You craft in words that fill our sail.
Jean, your Civil War love epic calls us
The careful moving plot enthralls us
Romantic heroes, battles, love and spies
Will soon be bringing readers’ sighs.
But Jean, you’re the managing Mother
Of the Bloc. You’ve become major other
Who worries, helps and serves our group
You provide us with our weekly Chicken Soup.
Joe, Italy’s medieval memorabilia
Enhances the story of your “famiglia”
History and sorcery you’ve intermixed
We try, but do we help you get it fixed?
Laura, you’ve just joined the Bloc
So how to know if we’re the Doc
You want to help your wandering plot?
It’s great writing, impressing us a lot.
Louise, your fascinating women
And stories with mayhem brimmin’
We love the way you twist and turn
Your people in plots we often struggle to discern
Susan, your FairyTail puppets
Are equal to our favorite Muppets
The stories that you carefully spin
We miss you well, please come back in.
Thomas, actor, dramatist, composer
For whom we all become supposer
The lyrical wit and wisdom of your writing
Provides each week a candle-lighting.
Orin, your rhyming’s worse than awful
By now the Group’s had their craw full
You could quit if you were ahead
But, alas, you never leave things unsaid
You’re out of novels and tiring prose
But the computer beckons you. Compose.
You still retain your taste for critical
Why waste your time on things political?
But let’s return to Carol, our indoctrinating Muse
Who sees us sometimes win and often loose
What would we do without your words
That carefully peck at us like hungry birds
Looking for meaning, then ascertaining
If we’re really on track or just no-braining
You buoy us up with careful praise
And then occasionally will raise
The question why we write the way we do?
What can we say, Carol? It’s because of you
We want your comment and attention.
We need your care and frequent mention
Treat us firmly when we’re wrong
But sing to us some time your approving song.
Hey, the New Year’s almost here
Maybe publishers will suddenly appear
Who recognize our rare ability
Before we slide into senility.
Or maybe in the millennial brain
No word-combinations remain
That have not previously been used
And all our work will be refused
As being in the past created
By authors, like us, but celebrated
Who put their work into the hard-drives
Of the computers that now rule our lives
We’ll continue to write and face the future
Our rejection scars the Bloc will suture
Reading to our Writers’ Bloc, we’re published HERE
So to all of us A HAPPY NEW WRITING YEAR.
