Back in 2008, I was starting to actively participate on Live Journal and elsewhere, with other writers of speculative poetry. When a fellow writer was lamenting being flamed by a self-important academician, I was inspired to write this little ditty.
A Lurker on Trolls
I lurk here at LJ, hardly knowing what to say,
never wanting to speak out of line
my words come in patterns,
the rhymes often scattered
or carefully crafted – sometimes.
To avoid flaming bruises, I shelter my muses;
I dare not admit they exist,
lest some uppity writer, academic inciter
tries to make me believe I’m a cyst,
or something worse than a boil
on the arse of a royal
pain in the back side of art,
metaphorically mixing, categorically shifting
catastrophically worse than a fart.
So I temper my posting.
Life’s too hot for more roasting.
I just want to write and to share
the words that I’ve drafted,
the stories I’ve crafted;
I just want to see them somewhere.
I’m a writer.
But not quite an insider.
I’ll play meek, mild mannered Clark Kent,
and watch from a distance -- until there’s an instance
on which a poor writer must vent.
Academics might spurn me; and trolls, they might burn me,
But you honestly have to admit:
a writer’s a writer, whether in- or outsider,
and the words of a flamer’s worth spit.
My “S” might be tiny, but it’s polished and shiny,
and I’ll wear it with pride as I boast:
I will never stop writing, and I’ll try to stop hiding --
I just hope there’s s’mores at the roast….