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Part 1 of "Porlock," more like traditional poetry than the others. October 2003.

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One, to dream freely, must have peace,
Uninterrupted; to release
Without obstruction of the mind
For inspiration’s not designed.

It has to flow all unimpeded!
If done apurpose, best delete it,
If song of genius is defeated,
The overflow is dead and bleeded.

Dear Col! We beg you, please reveal
If the River Alph is real.
We still do see thy glitt’ring Eye,
We know thy Fountain ne’er shall dry.

Did you need laudanum to see them?
Pour a shot of it in me, then.
And say! What fearful hand or eye
Can blast that lousy Porlock guy?

He is the nemesis of art
Who kills our finest ere we start.
He’s all responsibility�"
Our jobs, our chores, our family�"

And though creation’s our ambition,
Someone’s got to wash the dishen.
We can’t escape the piddling functions;
We still must cook, and eat, our luncheons.

Though we’re the image of our Creator,
Our own best work’s put off till later.
Food, clothes, shelter, legislators�"
Taxes and refrigerators….
It’s hard to elevate the soul
When you’re ten dollars in the hole.

You grasp at chaff and tug your forelock.
Curse that b*****d fiend from Porlock!

�"

Oct. 2003