King of the Writers
Our poets and writers are at arm’s length from us,
Not having the strength of athletes
That squeeze into our favorite places.
Raw, rugged character etched on their faces.
We give nicknames to those athletes, none to our writers.
Again, it’s because we favor tough critters
Over the cerebral, the brainy
Who hang out indoors when it’s not even rainy.
Imagine the fun of nicknaming writers,
Inspiration abounding from those names given others:
“The Rocket”, “Scooter”, “Broadway”, the “Bear”.
That’s what we need. Let’s try to go there.
“Hurricane” Hemingway, now there’s one for him.
A name straight out of the Carribbean.
And one for F. Scott, how about “Dandy”?
Now watch his words flow. It’s like reading ink candy.
“Choo Choo”, “Sugar” and Wille Mayes’ “Say Hey”.
There’s one that rhymes with Saint Exupery!
“White Shoes”, “Yankee Clipper”, but the “Sultan of Swat”
Seems to fit better on Kurt Vonnegut.
Bernard Shaw, now “Gorgeous George”?
How well we do when we just forge
On with the process; it’s getting’ to be fun
Michael Crichton’s now “Iron Mike”, that’s a good one.
Mark Twain becomes “Puddin’ Head”, Conrad, “Smokin’ Joe”
Poe can’t be called “Sweetness”, that’s the wrong way to go.
Carl Sandberg, Chicago’s hard-charging, “Raging Bull”.
Shakespeare, “The Great One"; that fits like a tool.
We could go on forever, nicknaming the bards,
But trust me, reader, it’s not in the cards.
Carry a football, slide head-first to a base and
You’ll earn a nickname
That all will embrace.
But writers aloof, their noses in books
Bring on our chagrin , those eye-raising looks.
Avoiding attention, not craving applause
They’d rather just write on without any pause
Well, just keep on writing
Ignoring our fun
And someday regret that your not the one
Crowned by all readers
“King of the Writers”