Not a poetry fan, but it’s about blogging. That speaks for itself
I do not want to bait a hook,
do the dishes, write a book.
Don’t wake at 6 or make my bed.
Most of my time’s spent in my head.
In two weeks, I’ll be seventy-one,
so when all is said and done,
I’ve earned the right to just obsess
on what I wish to. I confess
I’m up at eight or nine or ten,
with laptop or with notes and pen,
fulfilling all my blogging jobs,
and I must say that there are gobs
of prompt sites since
(and here I wince)
WordPress quit, thereby unleashing
scads of prompt sites without teaching
Mr. Linky or other ways
to try to ease our blogging days.
Now hours are spent just trying to
link up to that frog that’s blue
or finding where the prompt is hidden
even after we’ve been bidden
to come post on someone’s site.
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