Wrtiers Write
Writers write
And not to start a fight
But if this what you want to do
If this is what needs be done
Then how can the day be won
If you let one pass
Without time on your ass
On your goodly writer's chair
Writing but yes indeed
Though I'll concede
I'm thinking of those like myself
Who still but dream
Of the author's life
In whole or part
So if you write for yourself alone
Feel but free
To shake your head at me
And go yourself off
In whatever it was
That you were doing
That wasn't writing
Only let me ask you this
Do you eat
Each and every blessed day
And what of drinking
Is there such a thing
As a day without
And no I do not mean
The harder stuff
Because that's an addiction
And writing ain't the likes of that
At least in my world
Yes that's the point
So obvious no
It's like eating and breathing
Drinking and sleeping
Things I do
Each and every blessed day
Though it's also true
This is what I want to do
I want to write
Nay I need to dance my fingers o'er
The goodly keys of the board
Without no fail
Save that of being
Yes published alas
Though that's a whole other thing
That's separate to this
I need to write indeed
For the words I bleed
Be they of a story
For my hopes of glory
Though faint they are
Or poetry yes
That which first I did
Because it came to me
So naturally
How could I not
Take from thought
To written deed
But what of the need for rest
I hear you crying
For there are those days
Where it simply can't be done
I can't possibly lift a finger
To hold the pen
Or dance across the keys
For a single second
Because I'm too busy
Or too something else
Like I have a kid
Yes I'm a Mom or Dad
And though I feel bad
I cannot write today
Aye that's a truth
I haven't got myself
No family of my own
With me as the head
I chose writing instead
I say laughingly
Like it was a choice I made
When the choice it ever was
The lady's choice
More like ewww
Anyone but him
So no kids under foot
Running me ragged
And taking all my time
As family
Is wont to do
That much is true
But children sleep
And partners watch tv
Or do the dishes
Because those are the wishes
They know you had
So you could write
For just a bit
Before you came to sit
With your rock of gibraltar
If that's your story
It isn't mine
And might not be yours
For it's but one of many
The point my friend
Is these are choices
That yes we make
You can choose
To make a little time for you
And in that time you do
You can write
And when I say writing
I mean just that
It can be as simple
As the writing of your life
Five minutes here
Ten minutes there
I don't care
Because we can't all have
Hours at a time
Which we don't even need
To do the goodly bleed
That writing is
And yes that's metaphorically
The blood belongs inside
So don't get cute
And say I said me something
I didn't ever say
Where there's a will
There is a way
But that's my camp
I'm simply inviting
I don't want no fighting
Because it's too easy
For each to have their side
And shout at the other
Write without fail
I need a break
Because you can have both
If it's the oath
You choose to take
And believe it deep
You yourself too
Can do what I do
Writers write
Be it morning noon or night
Or anytime between
All I hope is once
But early and late
That's also great
Because if you eat
Yes three squares a day
You can find a way
To write but twice
Even if all it adds up to
Is fifteen minutes
There's a lot you can do
If you're practiced well
That's my pitch
Or would but be
If I was pitching you
On doing as I do
Which yes I am
And no I ain't
Or both at the same damn time
I'm just a man of rhyme
Half a story
Not quite told
Because it's not bold
Or full of daring
So no one's caring
Though still I carry on
And will until I'm gone
Yes gone and breathed my last
My future's set and cast
I'm a writer first and last
It's what lies between
Where I struggle most
Charles Petrie
Date
07-05-2019
Time
07:37-08:50=73 Minutes
Word Count
792
And not to start a fight
But if this what you want to do
If this is what needs be done
Then how can the day be won
If you let one pass
Without time on your ass
On your goodly writer's chair
Writing but yes indeed
Though I'll concede
I'm thinking of those like myself
Who still but dream
Of the author's life
In whole or part
So if you write for yourself alone
Feel but free
To shake your head at me
And go yourself off
In whatever it was
That you were doing
That wasn't writing
Only let me ask you this
Do you eat
Each and every blessed day
And what of drinking
Is there such a thing
As a day without
And no I do not mean
The harder stuff
Because that's an addiction
And writing ain't the likes of that
At least in my world
Yes that's the point
So obvious no
It's like eating and breathing
Drinking and sleeping
Things I do
Each and every blessed day
Though it's also true
This is what I want to do
I want to write
Nay I need to dance my fingers o'er
The goodly keys of the board
Without no fail
Save that of being
Yes published alas
Though that's a whole other thing
That's separate to this
I need to write indeed
For the words I bleed
Be they of a story
For my hopes of glory
Though faint they are
Or poetry yes
That which first I did
Because it came to me
So naturally
How could I not
Take from thought
To written deed
But what of the need for rest
I hear you crying
For there are those days
Where it simply can't be done
I can't possibly lift a finger
To hold the pen
Or dance across the keys
For a single second
Because I'm too busy
Or too something else
Like I have a kid
Yes I'm a Mom or Dad
And though I feel bad
I cannot write today
Aye that's a truth
I haven't got myself
No family of my own
With me as the head
I chose writing instead
I say laughingly
Like it was a choice I made
When the choice it ever was
The lady's choice
More like ewww
Anyone but him
So no kids under foot
Running me ragged
And taking all my time
As family
Is wont to do
That much is true
But children sleep
And partners watch tv
Or do the dishes
Because those are the wishes
They know you had
So you could write
For just a bit
Before you came to sit
With your rock of gibraltar
If that's your story
It isn't mine
And might not be yours
For it's but one of many
The point my friend
Is these are choices
That yes we make
You can choose
To make a little time for you
And in that time you do
You can write
And when I say writing
I mean just that
It can be as simple
As the writing of your life
Five minutes here
Ten minutes there
I don't care
Because we can't all have
Hours at a time
Which we don't even need
To do the goodly bleed
That writing is
And yes that's metaphorically
The blood belongs inside
So don't get cute
And say I said me something
I didn't ever say
Where there's a will
There is a way
But that's my camp
I'm simply inviting
I don't want no fighting
Because it's too easy
For each to have their side
And shout at the other
Write without fail
I need a break
Because you can have both
If it's the oath
You choose to take
And believe it deep
You yourself too
Can do what I do
Writers write
Be it morning noon or night
Or anytime between
All I hope is once
But early and late
That's also great
Because if you eat
Yes three squares a day
You can find a way
To write but twice
Even if all it adds up to
Is fifteen minutes
There's a lot you can do
If you're practiced well
That's my pitch
Or would but be
If I was pitching you
On doing as I do
Which yes I am
And no I ain't
Or both at the same damn time
I'm just a man of rhyme
Half a story
Not quite told
Because it's not bold
Or full of daring
So no one's caring
Though still I carry on
And will until I'm gone
Yes gone and breathed my last
My future's set and cast
I'm a writer first and last
It's what lies between
Where I struggle most
Charles Petrie
Date
07-05-2019
Time
07:37-08:50=73 Minutes
Word Count
792
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