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FINDING THE FIRST SENTANCE.

Want to write, but nothing good to say now

My Muse has gone off to inspire someone

Else, not that I really trust her, the cow!

She made me write the one about Chorlton

And The Wheelies. ("A great show shame

About the poem though. Load of immature crap

Penned by an old self-concious layabout

Who mistakes kid’s televsion for art. Snap

Open his books at any page to see

Clangers, Bagpuss, Wombles, Captain Pugwash.

It’s all nostalgia and kitsch. That’s the key

To poems by Arthur. Look how he’ll squash

As much into one line as possible

With tortured rhymnes and ten-syllable lines

Children could produce work less laughable.")

The pub would be better than these cheap wines,

But I’m trapped, waiting for inspiration.

I can cope alone! No muse is good muse.

Let her attend some poor scribe’s salvation

Elsewhere. I’ll find my own way. I refuse

To give .... Oh great timing! Now I’m too tired.

Just as I fall asleep words come to me.

Tomorrow I’ll arise sober, all fired

Up to write, "Time for bed said Zebedee."

Arthur Chappell

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