Weary, this poet
and only day six ─
my fatigue to fix.
Napowrimo is doing my head in
preventing enjoyment of reading
other folks’ work ─
in despair I shirk,
delete inbox and sigh at the shedding.
Napo’s stolen the pleasure
from my greatest treasure ─
it stops me from sleeping
writing nothing worth keeping
It’s become a poetical bore.
Great prompts thick and fast
in my head whizzing past
without stopping to let me compose.
Too much inspiration
leaves rebellious old poet aghast.
I’ve decided to go with the flow
cease the struggle with Napowrimo
There are prompts by the score ─
It’s becoming a chore
to keep up and I’ve lost my mojo.
So from now on I’ll write when I want to, despite plethora of prompts, which I’ll keep for time of drought when nothing comes to mind, then give each due attention and care. So there! And I had more fun writing that than I’ve had for the last seven days.