I’ve rummaged in the bag and pulled out these for you, promoted from Substack notes.
Some of it bites.
This is not X. It’s why.
I’m a writer, see?
I’m not a scrawler — I’m a baller.
Now I have the tool
to no longer look the fool.
Not just cool — gabagool.
I prompt the thing just so,
Only then, the words can flow.
Do I give it credit?
No.
Not for hubris, not for show —
Not for naught.
For aught.
I don’t seek no fame — I play the game.
Hearts and likes abound,
despite my trite negations,
the semantic corrugations
handed out to me, for free,
or so I’m told —or a monthly fee.
I pass them down to you
My price is more than fair!
My paywall’s a levee, unleashed on the bevy,
to drown the town square. Not with water —
with hot air.
Did you hear?
Creativity’s a careful prompt!
These ain’t models — they’re engines—
I’m a growth hack–Er, it’s writing skill I lack.
So mind the tack,
As you dodge my slop attack.
Bonus
roots, limericks
#1
I look at the pen in my hand,
English is mine to command.
I put pen to paper,
and suddenly waver.
My roots lie deep in foreign lands.
#2
I look at the keyboard before me,
My ancestors surely ignore me.
For though I try hard,
to embody the Bard,
My words are so full of fluff—like lard.