Twas the night before WordPress
Twas the night before Christmas, and in and around WordPress.
All writers were writing without brain power to access.
Papers were crumpled to the floor without care.
In hopes that a masterpiece would be an ace in the pocket to share.
We were all snuggled with letters in our beds.
While visions of blogging danced in our pretty little heads.
And comments uttered, puts a feather in our cap.
And we may even try our luck writing a little bit of rap.
In the computer arose such a clatter.
I thought it was dead and my Christmas poem would not even matter.
Away to the computer I flew like a flash.
In hopes that it had not become a piece of trash.
As a writer within I need to grow.
The ink in my mind does need to flow.
When what to my wandering eyes should appear.
A working computer that allayed my fear.
To the old pen so lively and so quick.
With an eager pen that give words a kick.
Fast and furious my racing thoughts came
I whistled and wrote and hoped for some fame.
Now letters, now sentences, now paragraph and a story
Come on articles, come on sagas, give me some publishing glory.
Writer’s block that before the hurricane fly.
Letters come tumbling in our writer’s blood we can’t deny.
Off of our chairs we all flew.
Started writing again without a clue.
And then in a twinkling I heard in my head,
The formulation of a poem that has not fled.
Computer screens and keyboards galore.
Typing crazily wanting some more.
I was dressed all in fur, from head to my foot.
And my clothes were all dirty with ashes and soot.
A bundle of leaky pens sat on my desk.
This blue ink glob of a monster looked grotesque.
My eyes twinkled, some and my libations were merry.
I drank so much alcohol that my nose was red like a cherry.
Drinking and writing are the best of friends.
These endless of stories that never end.
A mistletoe hangs but there is nobody to kiss.
I will write myself some exciting and delicious bliss.
The stub of a cigar I hold tight in my teeth.
And the smoke it encircled my head like a wreath.
I rambled my blogging underneath my breath.
I will write I said right up until my death.
I wrote myself in a story as a right jolly old elf.
I looked into the mirror and laughed at myself.
Words have the power with a twist in my head.
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.
I spoke not a word, but went straight to my work.
Ideas were flying and I gave myself a smirk.
And laying my finger to the side of my nose.
I gave a nod, and began to write many prose.
I grabbed my books and put them in a sleigh.
To be published at Amazon, Smashboard and others along the way.
But I did exclaim, as I am driving out of sight.
Happy Christmas to all and to all a good night.