Our Master is a Slave Driver

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Our Master is a Slave Driver

 

I post a poem once a day

That's three six five a year

How do my poor old neurons cope?

They want to talk (lend ear)

 

Neurons here dear reader

He wonders how we cope

In truth he's just a slave driver

We think he's into dope

 

Street-side they call it 'Poet's Dream'

A chemical amide

To us it should be 'Poet's Doom'

He wants his kick, his ride

 

My neurons keep insisting

I go to rehab pronto

Give us a rest Oh Master

But I just do not want to

 

I need my fix....

 

We'll go on strike.....

 

Don Matthews September 2019

◄ Joni Mitchell 1969

Where Are You My Publisher? ►

Comments

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Rose Casserley

Tue 10th Sep 2019 14:03

well, I think you tick perfectly Don-so there! 😊










Rose 💋

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Ruth O'Reilly

Tue 10th Sep 2019 11:34

Poetry is a prescription
Poetry Is The Cure
No neurons under restriction
They enjoy producing more 😉

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Don Matthews

Tue 10th Sep 2019 08:15

Serious comment

The Poet/Muse relationship is an interesting one. Mine is complex. It reveals much about my psychology. What makes me tick. And not tick....

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Don Matthews

Tue 10th Sep 2019 08:14

I've made the first step on my road to recovery. I admit I have a problem. I'm an addict. My neurons have given up on me. They want me to go to rehab. I ask is there a nice nurse Caroline there like when I was in hospital? They just shake their heads. See why they've given up?

I'm a mess....

Thalia (my Muse of Mirth) says 'chin up Don, we can sort things out'

Thanks Thalia. You're a friend .....

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