A writer writes: That’s the bottom line. If you've got something you want to say on paper then do it. Don't worry about grammar, don't worry about criticism -- Just do it. Remember the old saying "Those who can..do; those who can't..do do! And please ignore the morons who spout guff like “I only write serious prose” or “Music shouldn’t be humorous” or conversely “Writing shouldn’t be taken too seriously”. They're talking crap.  The point is -- Writing is a serious business;but it should still be fun. If it isn't....Take up Squash.

 

I once sent a poem to be reviewed. It got slated, mainly because the "critics" totally missed all the relevent points. All they seemed bothered about was that in their opinion I was forcing the rhymes. I pointed out that as we don't normally speak in rhyme of course they have to be forced and it reminded me of a song from a while back. The writer concocted the word "knowed" specifically so it would rhyme with "road". Nothing wrong with that. I wonder if any of my idiot critics thought to contact Bob Dylan (knowed and road was from "Don't Think Twice It's Alright") and tell him he was forcing rhymes. And that's my point -- Do what YOU want not what they want.

 

Below is an example of what I like to write some of the time. It's not exactly the height of lyrical poetry but I think it make a point.

 

 

We live in fear of everything:

What will tomorrow morning bring?

A mugging, rape or kill for thrill?

Or just the damned electric bill.

 

But just who is accountable

For the endless daily human cull?

So many contenders: To start where?

As we read the rags and pull our hair.

 

So let’s sit back and take a vote

On who’ll most likely sink our boat.

Not a very pleasant thought

But a lesson that should well be taught.

 

Forty percent say Uncle Sam

Who learned not from Korea or Nam.

It huffs and puffs and bears its chest

With disregard for all the rest.

 

Forty percent say a jihad

A popular Century Two One fad.

Although it’s meaning has new explanation

From Muhammad’s original interpretation.

 

Ten percent think we’ll step in pooh

Copied by descendants of Shang and Zhou.

When threats are made is it they who shout?

No, they just want to buy us out.

 

Ten percent in tin foil hats

Think Area 51’s where it’s at.

They see invasion from the stars.

Impossible, they live too far.

 

So from where will come annihilation?

Could anything cause mass obliteration?

There is a contender quite able to fire us

In the lightest weight class– the common virus.

 

Every winter there’s some new bug

Immune to every type of drug.

Slightly worse than the one last year:

“But I’ll get over it, have no fear.”

 

Our inner systems work overtime

To rid our bodies of microscopic grime.

But sooner or later we’ll lose the fight

And yet we do not see the plight.

 

Most folk hide behind a wall

Of trusted Paracetomol.

Three days in bed you’re as right as rain

And ready to start work again.

 

But one day all the warring schisms

Will fall to microorganisms

No ears for rebuke, too small to nuke

Is it Grand Design: Or just a fluke?