By: Ben Bielert
So you wanna be a writer?
Well, yes I fucking do,
so don’t tell me that I can’t,
just because it’s shaken you.
It comes roaring out of you,
just like a waterfall,
if it doesn’t come unbidden,
then it’s worth nothing at all.
You know, sometimes it is work,
so, I’m sorry to burst your bubble,
but it doesn’t always come a-roaring,
so get down to it on the double.
If everybody waited,
until they just felt like it,
how many worthwhile things that are
would instead be things that weren’t?
Sometimes inspiration strikes,
and you must jot it down,
before you lose the spirit,
or forget the sound.
But sometimes that roaring song,
comes just as a whisper,
you coax it from the shadows,
and make the notes sound crisper.
You find this creature,
mangled, but still breathing,
and with a fight you give it life,
when it’s only you perceiving.
Some critters, they come full of life,
hardly needing a brush,
you loose them on the world,
in a manic rush.
But for the timid, the never done,
the things most can’t conceive,
those may take a bit more care,
to make the world believe.
But if you’ve given time,
and still it does not roar,
then put it out if its misery,
by hurrying to death’s door.
If you must kill your pet,
lay it to repose so softly.
Bury it where we keep the fossils,
under B for Bukowski.
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Bloody Well Write 