29 May

By Nesher Ehrman 
Oh hearken now and listen well
To the dismal tale I will now tell
Of a thing behooved of fickle feature
IMAGINATION – wily creature
From her emerge ideas and plots
Woven stories, domestic knots
All not-real and all made-up
When supping IMAGINATION’s cup
An author who bends and and sweats at his work
Creating the plight of a hero named Dirk
He calls to his muse, that she may inspire
To her he prays to start the fire
Like gems dredged up from crystal ball
Ideas come forth, they may not stop
The lifeblood of stories, each ruby drop
No matter the language, or of what nation
The bones are the same – it is creation
But no matter the name, or what it is called
IMAGINATION is fickle, a crone all enshawled
Sometimes you sit, and write for a spell
Nothing more trivial than story to tell
But hold dear these rare times, they come not often
IMAGINATION is harsh, and seldom to soften
To me this rhyme, these words, the whole
Where I beg for ideas, I whine and cajole
To me in my head, I play slave to her master
She is but an idea, but I write all the faster
This poem does not make too much sense. It makes sense to me in my head and that’s what important. It requires some IMAGINATION of your own to understand what it means to you. To see other (more comprehensible) poems and stories, feel free to visit

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