[This was a bit of fun that came to me while I was sitting in Swindon Reference Library (a postage stamp of a place with less books than your average book shop). The writer's block is one of my most faithful companions - it's just the right height for me to nestle my head on when I'm slumped over my desk feeling sorry for myself - and this time I was communing with him quite wretchedly when, out of the blue, this little piece of doggerel materialised. Creativity, for me at least, is one of the most awesome yet fleeting of God's gifts and this verse is an amateurish reflection of that fact.]
Ow...
Singed by the creative spark
Burnt by its flash of brilliance
Neurons shut down by the surge of new thought
My mind becomes blank, my impulses wrought
Of the inward gestation of outwardly sought
Figurings, ponderings, likenings, quickenings
Brain now more fraught than it ought
Terminal overload
Head will explode
Creation grounds out through my feet
I'm beat
I'm a gibbering wreck in my seat
