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AGONY and ECSTASY
By Mark Sconce
O Writers, O you chosen ones!
And Poetasters on the run,
As I describe your agony
And then perhaps your ecstasy.
Come closer now, sit next to me.
You agonize, as is your wont.
You wonder why your face is gaunt.
You question why your soul lies bare
And contemplate your deep despair.
But wait! Before becoming too distraught,
Just look what agony hath wrought:
Confessions by Jean Jacques Rousseau,
And Walden’s Pond by Hank Thoreau,
And then The Isle of Innisfree,
That Butler Yeats’ soliloquy.
Each one caused a furrowed brow,
The same as yours is doing now.
So never quit, no never, never,
But double down on your endeavor.
Agonies like flowers bloom,
Enough to usher in our gloom.
Computers lead the way I guess,
We oft become their slave,
And to them every thought confess
And then forget to SAVE!
Alone in your Cialis tub,
“Perchance to dream, aye, there’s the rub.”
But take the pill the morning after,
Lest all your dreams give birth to laughter.
“You write with joy and inspiration;
You suffer an ecstatic fit;
You sleep, exhausted from creation,
And in the morning find: it’s shit.”
But suddenly you’re in the mood
And to Cialis tub you go.
The one beside you holds the Muse,
And soon creative juices flow.
And what about the ecstasy
That many writers seek and find?
The out-of-body consciousness
That overwhelms the mind.
The tears of joy, creation’s rain
That waters soul and soil alike.
The heart, the head, the restless brain
All ravished by the soul’s delight.
And what about the Writer’s Group,
Some twenty years in Ajijic?
You’d have to be a nincompoop
To miss a good critique.
And here’s the best one I suppose,
The one that makes it all worthwhile,
The one that wakes you from your doze,
And takes you down the aisle.
That cherished day, a letter comes
Addressed it seems to you…
“We’re happy to inform you, sir,
We have a rendezvous!”
“Our spirits soar in exaltation,
And once again there reappears
The awe of God…and inspiration…
The sense of life…and love…and tears.”