I tried to write a story, 
but the details were too gory, 
And I knew you'd find the villain 
much too mean.

I thought about another, 
but my dear, departed mother 
Would have said it was 
disgustingly obscene!

I gave up on my ballet' 
when rolls of fat got in the way - 
During pirouettes: the melting lard 
oozed through my pants.

I was a "knight" in operetta, 
but I started a vendetta, 
When I slipped, and skewered 
the "cast" upon my lance!

Then I tried to sing a song, 
but my vocal cords when wrong - 
They smashed my mirrors 
and all my window panes . . .

Not by their piercing tone, 
but by the "objects" that were thrown 
By my neighbors when the pain 
assailed their brains!

As I brushed a model's picture, 
Her nose began to itch her . . . 
'Got so bad, she stooped 
and rubbed it on the floor.

She promised she'd do better, 
but the itching wouldn't let her. 
So I paid her off, 
And "painted" never-more!

I composed a "lovers's ballad" 
But the ending wasn't valid. 
The "good guy" didn't win 
the virgin's hand.

A villain's smile beguiled her, 
and then the cad defiled her! 
He won her - her wealth, 
And all her "Daddy's" land.!

Then I took piano lessions; 
And after fifty-seven sessions, 
Two-fingered "Chopsticks" 
was my only repertoire.

My teacher smiled benignly, 
as she sidled up behind me 
And smashed my "Steinway" 
with a sledge and wrecking bar!

I know I have no talent - 
and I'm crude, and never gallant, 
But "Art" is rife 
with blatant mediocrity!

"Tiny Tim" and "Madonna" made it, 
so I will NOT be dissuaded! 
There must surely be a fine 
career for me!

After all of my reverses 
(and your curses), I write verses. 
And, though I'm poor at that 
it's here to stay!

Despite the Muse's bruises 
and my syntax that confuses, 
I'll keep writing poesy rhymes, 
'til my LAST DAY!