A Poet without words equates to a Fish out of water.
Like a sailboat standing idly by
Is the writer – without words, staring into the abyss?
Its crew – without wind have no knots to tie
The poet with his blank canvas utters signals of distress.
But soon the wind will rise – then we can set sail
A light bulb begins to flash – there are words to be written
When we return be sure of this – with fishy stories you we will regale
The poet you see will never quit, by this bug he is bitten.
We’ll tell of waves that lashed our boat – how we braved the elements
You see one can write on subjects which they no absolutely nothing about
Those white horses out at sea turned out to be white elephants
And the poet can fill a page with trivia – for of that there never is a drought.
C. J. Black∁β