Forgot How To Write

I forgot how to write.
A sorely deplorable plight.

A letter a word a clause a sentence,
Foreign elements I fail to fathom.
A sentence sentenced me to write;
I could not continue;
I had not the material.
My conjunctions took flight;
They were scattered through the night,
But then I punctuate all right.

No, stop these silly puns of grammar.
But without them, I started to stammer
in an awkward fashion,
and then an abrupt stop

which happened later on.
No, poetry
does not form this way. Line
breaks like a train
derailed; whimsical farcical
dispositions which enter
no meaning into my
course of speaking.

Maybe line breaks ought to occur
like this:
to signal a beginning of something.

Oh no,
I realise I'd forgotten to rhyme.
My rhythm is misplaced too,
what do I do?
This is such a mess,
a real distress,
perhaps I really shouldn't write.

But I have to.
I write on the board;
I spell for the forlorn-
looking children; and also
suggest answers for the most
stilted of questions.

I can't bear to wield
my love of words and
brandish it firmly like a carrot.
Geez, what a failed simile,
I guess I should be contented
with being goofy.

To all words

I'd reason, I'd doubt;
I'd raise my hands and call a truce,
Act dumb and clown around,
But
Nowadays I just wear a frown.

To write is to feel,
to wonder, to persevere.
No feather quill in hand,
No flourishes or fanfare.
Words light up words as kindred
souls, and kindle
to consume the world.

Do not overload the words;
let them rest, relax, and
drop their meaningful burdens.
Let them playfully hide
nuances of their character,
colouring the globe
with fervour.

I remember
a time when I had forgotten to write,
when only the iambic meter in Humpty Dumpty
came to my mind.

Perhaps now I may give advice.

Let words string your fingers gently,
tugging you forward to another land,
a flavourful sanctuary.
And when all the kings' horses, and all the kings' men;
result in all doubt falling away,

You'd find the words on page--
Grinning at you again.