The Writers' Circle

I've always wanted to try my middle finger punching on the keyboard and create some kind of poetry and I know from the comments I got in the past with one or two poem(?) submissions, it's meant to be filed under "G" (which rhymes with rotting cabbage).

Today, the snow decided to move in unannounced and uninvited.  So I figured it would be a great time to wax poetic.  So here it is . . .  my inferior and pathetic attempt to write a poem.  Please critique without invented words, made-up phrases, bodily functions, yawns or any middle-fingered hand gestures.  The goldfish is watching (he's a young goldfish, so please, parental guidance is in effect). 

My dog Spotty (the knight of the yellow snow) helped me write it and supplied the necessary inspiration, while he did his thing and piled it up in the snow-filled backyard. With his puppy-dog eyes, his first brutally honest critique was "Rough! Rough!". 

So I told him, no more Playdog subscriptions for him and I'll just submit my poem(?) for proper feedback here at the circle.  

Please get yourself a basin or some kind of container in case you chuck or *lose your lunch*. 

Here goes:

.......................................


A Saga So Long

A story so long, a writer so dense
A plot so boring, that others incense
As sure as the sun sets down in the west
Wordsmiths, and poets, all scribblers detest.

A saga so long, gets irksome humdrum
Penpushers and writers, their interest rectum
As entries and garbage, spewing nostrum
The moment of truth, Alas! Ad nauseam.

Often, mind shudders at thoughts of tantrum
The eyes look the heavens and pray for wisdom
Hell no, at full stop there's no end, so dumb
But wait, there's more scum, where is the rum?

The dark clouds had moved in, the snow had piled up
A mockup submitted, sputum larrup
A saga so long, a writer trollop
Oh Amos, ignoramus, oh please, don't throw up.