report abuse
about me
Walking past a tattered fella,
pen and pad I spied.
Querying him on his scribbles,
He looked at me and cried!
“Don’t ask of me how come I here,
the story’s old indeed.
Once thought I a writer be,
until I joined, Authonomy.
Upon my entry voices came,
to ask of me a read.
Others wished to teach,
a better writer
I could be.
Lessons given,
Changes made
My words I hardly knew.
But wait
There’s more
You should know,
Of what the forums can do.
They’ll push and prod,
With good intent,
Even humor can be found.
With rules and jargon,
I loaded up,
My feet firmly on the ground.
From advice, my work set aside,
It languished there in volume.
With my newly acquired literary strides,
working hard only grew the problem.
My aspirations of grandeur gone,
falling short there over time.
Reduced to massive quivering, I.
Nothing left but this ‘haiku rhyme’.
Writers are Whores
Editors their Pimps
Readers merely Jon’s”
favourite books
Samual Clements
Jonathan Swift
my websites
HarperCollins is not responsible for the content of external internet sites.