January 21, 2011

 To blog or not to blog:

Is it a diary? A log?

Musings I can't sell?

Alas, a bottomless well ...


Cynical ole me,

a chance to chat with thee,

loyal reader from the store,

online in search of more.


My privilege you drop by

to read what I let fly,

on bus, on train, in bed,

the humdrum in my head.


Writer behind the scenes,

free-thinking in his jeans,

far from editor's gaze,

recounting average days.


But daily I am dull,

weekly sometimes null,

monthly an event

worthy of ink spent.


What should I jot here?

My triumph and my tear?

A writer's gambled life?

The patience of my wife?


Pyjamas for a year,

then the spotlight near.

Shelf-life all too brief,

her patience turns to grief.


The Blog a safety valve,

impatient authors' salve,

published in a flash,

even if it's trash!


I suppose it is an ad

for other projects on my pad,

less creative capers

in magazines and papers.


While here I please myself,

it may not make your shelf,

nor will I get paid

for writer's lemonade.


Are words wasted here?

Sometimes yes, I fear,

when all I want to do

is pen book number two.


Pyjamas on once more,

'Do Not Disturb' on door,

paper strewn on floor,

wife a tad unsure.


I sip a cup of tea

when words mutiny,

and when my mind's in fog

I free it with a blog.


I've heard it said about,

that Blog 'adds nowt to owt',

but maybe it is wise

that writers exercise.


A blog is writer's stretch,

few dollars does it fetch,

but where else can one scribble,

cheerful, harmless dribble?