Um err what! I think maybe I have lost the plot.
Been trying to battle with that damn writer's block.
Looking everywhere for a spark, a smidgen not a lot.
Would look in my box but can't open the lock.
My brain is asleep, I'm going absolutely mad,
so scarpered last night to my cold studio and paint.
The garden shed by torchlight is my own little pad.
Messed with colours opaque, bright and translucent.
That's a terrible rhyme, Jez, for goodness sake. Not going to even try with formality or form, Give up… no way this is for Jeff, a hell of a mate. So a 'poem' to give him a grin larger than norm.
Still messing with paint it didn't help much
but got a few sketches to build into to a frame.
Fantasy my art is an escapism if you need such.
Beats landscapes that all look the same.
Then just after lunch I sign on to AP, to look awhile,
There is Jeff, hooray, so click, I read all his stuff,
Like a jester is he, now I am guaranteed to smile.
I can never imagine our Jeff is in anyway gruff.
A contest, you git, now I got to try and write funny,
and I bet you are sat there snickering, you dastardly hound,
Waistcoat blazing bright, challenging this here hunny!
Maybe I should just write as I speaks as that's a weird sound.
So forgetting all sense, and rhyme too, I'll write as I speaky. All I really wants to says is Jeff a big thank you, babe, For chirping me chipper each day when I'm down and peaky. You is a gent with style and class, and one hell of a mate.
Hellfire and britches that last bit almost does rhyme And it wasn't meant too, well, slap my butt and call me Charlie, Maybe the muse is returning, it's about bloody time, Now I'm stuck what goes with Charlie … maybe rusks of Farley!