I could write about things that are boring
I could write about things that are bleak
I could write about day jobs and dollars and dung
or a bird with a bendy black beak
If I wrote of a dog or a toothy black cog
would anyone read what I said?
Or I penned down some stories of Liberals and Tories
would the audience head off to bed?
What manner of song will amuse you?
What tale will tinkle your toes?
Shall I spill out some letters of lessers and betters
of oppression and say "That's how it goes." ?
I cast all around for a subject
I wrack in my brains for a bone
of a saga so tingling it will get your bell dingling
but all I can think of is stone.
I glance at the paper before me and a shrugging is all that I feel
I could jot down some words like some scattered deer turds
on the snowbank but what's the big deal?
::: 
Then I think of the words of Marv Klassen, 
a chap whom I've always revered.
"Just pick something" he growls. "It need not scald your
bowels. Don't just sit there and stroke on your beard!"
"If you pick up the pen and start scratching , sometimes what springs out there is oil. Oh sure, there'll be drudge and gravel and sludge but as time goes your guts will uncoil. There's all kinds of bland stuff inside you as there is in the minds of all men
but you slam in the tap and let out the crap and the syrup will flow from your pen."
:::
So I'll lay down some ink on the paper and I'll stir up the words deep within. Perhaps what spills forth will urge wind from the north or flutter like chaff on the wind. I think that there's something inside me that rings like a bell in the breeze and the suffering lift up their heads high and the tousled boys say "That's mad steeze!" I know there are words made of mercury that flash like a fish in a pool and when those words splash the forgot feelings flash and a past call shines out like a jewel.
The guy that is worn to a tassel pushes back from his welder or desk; like a breeze on his face or a chatter of grace those words puff at his problems and pesk.
The gal that feels trapped in her treasure or the woman with nothing to show gives a puff and a toss for there's gold in that dross and a leaf like a hope starts to grow.
  So get up boy some people are waiting ..sit down with a pencil and pad plunk away with your fingers those clumsy humdingers
Cuz for someone those words won't be bad.