One And One

I won't but huzz just yet
But there I'll get
When I've been home 
For an hour or two
As I will do
What I do at night
Which is write write write
Because I'm not just a writer
But I'm the Writer Man

Yes it's a title
I gave myself
Which always has
Less good worth
Than if it was
Yes given to me
By those but greater
Of prose and poetry
So you can scoff
But as a writer of goodly standing
Which I claim
For the goodly sum of words
I wrote but three good years ago 

I will not cry
Neither loudly with my voice
And angry with my fists
Pounded on the table
Because I am able yes
To hold my temper in
Like a high hard wall
That contains the tears
I'm crying inside my soul

Aye there were words
As I wrote but well
For I was riding
A goodly wave
But I failed to save
The goodly work
That I had written
And failed to notice
That I lost my good connection
To the goodly web
As I've found away from home
That it is weak
And prone to failing

Now still I would have been  fine
For I hadn't lost the plot
Of goodly digital land
Where my words were growing well
Save for one damn thing
I signed the fuck out
And lost what I'd written
Like totally gone
And sadly lost

But being as I was

Away from home
I simply cussed
In the back of my head
Because damn I liked I did
What I was writing
And would have gladly kept
Those same words

Only they are gone indeed
And having the need
To write write write
On the way to a million
Or so I hope
I carried on
Because what but else
Would a goodly Writer Man
Do but this

Yes I know
It's a title
That I gave to myself
Which gives it less acclaim
Than it would otherwise have
If it was given to me
By some authority
But here I am
Certain sure
That no you won't
Loudly complain
About this  now
Or some time later
When I am greater

And if I'm wrong
What are you gonna do
Other than  gnash your teeh
And pout about
This giving myself
A name I earned
Three good years ago
When first I struck out
To write a million words

But if you insist
Come at me
And I'll defend myself
For I earned the name
And have all but earned it again
WIth the great good tally
I rallied to reach
With these past four months
That I have had
Where eighty some
That's thousands yes
Were the least of what I wrote

Though that's just fear
Of what the online space can be
Where it's fucketh thee
You're a jerk
And that work
That you so love
Is not deserving of
Any reading at all

But that ain't here I think
We can even share a drink
In person yes
If we chanced to be together
In the same good place
Just look at my smiling face
And the greater bulk
Of thse here words
That are goodly borne
Of poetic joy

I did not cry
Not even a little
Or even silently curse the fate
Of that goodly bit of verse
That fared much worse
Than me I did
When I foolishly shut it off
And killed the goodly field
That I had started to plant

But shit doth happen
And this was mild yes
As I am the Writer Man
And I rebound
From losses like that
Taking them in stride
To give you this
Yes to give you this indeed
Free to read
And ever welcome too
Your comments are
Not that I need them
But if I've reached you well
Can't you tell me so

No I did not cry
But on the verge
Of crying for
The goodly lack
Of hail good fellow
We like your writing
I finally take my leave
Before it's too late
And me I grate
Yes grate on your nerves

Charles Petrie

Date
08-17-19

Time
19:00-20:33=93 Minutes

Word Count

688