Charge of the writing blockade

Picture credit: Richard Caton Woodville
Picture credit: Richard Caton Woodville

Half a page, half a page,

Half a page onward.

My deadline’s tomorrow,

My word count: six hundred.

Three thousand words, I need;

Thoughts don’t flow well at speed.

Into the recycle bin

Go the six hundred.


Forward, my essay plan!

No, I won’t make a flan…

How many eggs again?

(Someone had blundered.)

Short breaks can help the brain:

Join Buzzfeed’s cat campaign.

(What was the task again?

– rewrite the six hundred.)


Flour to the left of me,

Eggs to the right of me,

Laptop in front of me.

(Stop now? I wondered.)

Top flan with almond flakes,

Quick Youtube while it bakes:

Watch dog on roller skates

(… take that, six hundred).


What have I done? A flan?!

Three hours down the pan!

No more. Youtube is banned.

Rewrite the six hundred.

Flour in my laptop keys –



Recycle six hundred.


Make coffee. Up all night.

Cold shower at first light.

End is now within sight.

Words left: six hundred.

Deadline’s at 12pm.

More coffee. Flan again.


Essay grade: sundered.


Find charger… plug it in…

Hold breath as screen grows dim.

Open Word. Is it in..?

Holy shitballs. I’ve blundered.

Put on some Eminem.

Start typing crap again.

Word count by 11am:

Six sodding hundred.


Give up. Faceplant on bed.

Wake up. Write poem instead.

Submit to Department Head:

Room KH600.

Please see above for why

My essay’s gone awry.

At least I didn’t lie.

(Tennyson: plundered.)


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