Deep within throes of writer's block cerebral cortex feels frozen to the core

Haint no rhyme nor reason

why writing a poem such an arduous chore

twenty two days afore

winter solstice twenty twenty more

or less three weeks from tomorrow

November thirtieth, I implore

the god/goddess of poetry,

perhaps found within Bangalore

highlighted by the 'Green Door'

guarded by the key don Eeyore

also known as Al Gore

him of Earth in the Balance fame

who by George got ambushed unsure

if he chad chance to claim victory tour

when former candidate did score

less electoral college votes

nevertheless in my mind before

thoroughgoing count did ignore

discarded ballots scattered

all across the floor

which outcome incurred Iraq war

insinuating weapons of mass destruction

the gung ho forty third president forswore

existed but quite a few

respectable Republicans did abhor

pinning such ambiguous lore

upon head of recalcitrant Saddam Hussein

bombed back to stone age

think lavishing primitive home decor

no imprecation heaped and hurled

upon United States military, nor

thug, who nobody did adore

asking politely "por favor

can I pretty please take detour

to Galapagos Islands of Ecuador

made famous courtesy Charles Darwin

still popular best selling author

at garden variety generic bookstore

which borders on ridiculous for sure

yet inane rhyme tore

thru my noggin after writer's block

yours truly did deplore

he would spend countless hours in vain

every burst of creativity I did explore

found me smack dab against

figurative cul de sac and bonjour

to you too three score

orbitz after me late papa did bore

mama, she passed away

fifteen years before.