Writer, noun, living. /
Writer, verb, conveying life. /
Writer, now, writing.
Filed under 2020, Haiku to You Thursday, Poetry by David E. Booker
WRITER: Comedy comes from pain.
AGENT: Then this meeting is hilarious.
Filed under 2020, Monday morning writing joke
There once was writer from Chicago,
Who fancied himself a hero in Key Largo.
So, he packed up his crap,
But misread his map,
And is living near zero in Fargo.
There once was a writer of horror
Who wrote about mean, evil flora.
And there once was a fly
That landed nearby
And ate him so he could write no more-ah.
There once was a writer from NASA
Who knew if aliens could blast ya.
He wrote his memoir
Called, Life from Afar.
His agent said, “The movies have passed ya.”
Filed under 2020, Monday morning writing joke, NASA, Poetry by David E. Booker
The once was a writer of mystery /
Who had a sordid and checkered history. /
They say in another town /
She let her husband drown /
Because his reviews of her writing were blistery.
There once a writer from Cancun
Who wrote about things way too soon.
It was all in future tense
And made very little sense.
Especially about the spaceman riding a bassoon.
There once was a writer from Schenectady
Whose writing was full of complexity
He plots were convoluted.
His characters quite putrid.
He was left all alone intellectually.
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