In Houston there once was an artist
who really was trying her hardest
to paint with her heart
magnificent art
and tell stories that truly seemed smartest.
To paint with her heart she was trying
though some days she ended up crying
(it was more like a whine
that sniveling kind)
but when painting the brushes went flying.
She painted for five hours straight
with nary a small little break.
Then when she was through
time to make a meat stew
to nourish her family of eight.
Well, eight is a number that's false,
her husband and one little dog,
four daughters, it's true
but one's in Peru
there's also a gecko with spots.
"What's up," said her husband one morning,
"I'm writing a small little warning
of what happens when prose
gets stuck in one's toes
and the readers get lulled into groaning."
"The writing has gotten me stuck
every word that I write just sounds yuck
I'm going to bed
to clear out my head
upon waking to find better luck."
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4 comments:
Hahaha I love it.
"Thanks, friend," she said, more thoughts to gather.
"Who knew that such thinking would matter,
that what is writ here
reviled and revered
would sometimes be verse with a meter?
If my writin' was mo' betta',
I'd write you a letta'.
It'd tell ya you're coo',
'n dat you ain't no foo'.
It'd say other stuff, too,
Like "wasssup?" and "what it do?".
Then it'd end something like dis',
"Mmmmuuuaaaahh!" (That's a big, sloppy kiss!)
You should join our writing competition . . . they are no big prizes, but you can get some feedback on your writing and have a chance to chat with other writers.
http://literarysmackdown.blogspot.com/
Come check it out and feel free to join this month’s challenge!
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