A Letter To Ap After William Mackworth Praed A Letter Of Advice Poem by Jonathan ROBIN

Dear AP, I leave you this letter
after writing from ten until nine
for a site I'd delight to know better,
for a smile that my heart can't decline.
But I found after lengthily pacing
for points in the cold for some sign
that my heart which with hope had been racing
in darkest despair did repine.

Dear AP from twelve to eleven
last night saw me knock at your door
in hope that an angel from heaven
should show me the light, but no more
shall I screed in my need if no answer
can echo, where no joy's in store,
I won't dangle as puppet-stringed dancer,
not even for one I adore!

When I came through a link all seemed dandy
but when one digs deeper one finds
some exchange trophy's gold, sold like candy
to boost up friends' ignorant minds.
While some bore with gore and knives cutting,
some 'WOW! ain't it AWESOME! ' exclaim,
my mind is on archives rebutting
the flame of my name for life's fame!

Dear AP a contest has started
to ask how and what we should change
from far and near writers are charted
to test the extent of their range.
One thought one would add, tender hearted,
that the category archives strange
one votes for sane system that lets id
and ego poor upgrades arrange.

Dear AP I'm asked about blocking
those who comments oft copy and paste,
and those with insults in their stocking
who, bitter, goodwill fritter, waste.
Should one justly ignore with door locking
those who trophies exchange in their haste
to hold contests too quickie, taste mocking,
what would you advise, culprit traced?

Should one tolerate those, the boat rocking,
with pseudo anonymous based,
or respond, not react, to their shocking
behaviour online both debased
and short term as they squirm, blow half-cocking
credibility - consequence faced
too seldom while points they are clocking
at others' expense, trust misplaced?

So though contests appear open wide, Dear,
there is so little logic, the game
soon must tire as the out-flowing tide, Dear,
should erase every unworthy frame.
And how I detest comments wise may
be wiped out because some can't stand
home truths but prefer good surprise pay,
in AH, OOH and ERR 'missed typed' hand!

Dear AP twenty hours have I waited
day in and day out by grief torn,
all attempts that I made were ill-fated
as my consonants vowed my vowels scorn.
The wonder my dunderhead brought you
tonight may steal thunder at morn,
but the blossoms whose beauty besought you
fade so fast when few look, I'm forsworn.

Dear AP twenty hours have I waited
day in and day out by grief torn,
all attempts that I made were ill-fated
as my consonants vowed my vowels scorn.
The wonder my dunderhead brought you
tonight may steal thunder at morn,
but the blossoms whose beauty besought you
fade as fast as last season's drenched corn.

As on Thursday applause-less, defeated,
so on Friday all clause-less I'm spurned,
is the cycle of love thus completed,
is this all the thanks that I've earned?
It is hard for a fool to be taken,
and sure signal one's soft in the head,
but the reason that slept must awaken,
and the spirit, restored, won't be lead!

I'd have offered you all in my power,
to cherish, to share, to be kind,
I'd have nurtured emotions to flower
and found wings for soul un-resigned.
It is not just the whim of an hour
but life spent with no bent chains to bind,
in a warm, in a warm, tender bower
with blank verse, even worse, left behind!

How can I be present tomorrow,
bear false witness with stanzas prewrit.
Once again 'less in anger than sorrow'
I will try to bar love from my wit.
I will try to contain my emotion,
just go through the motions to ease
the emptiness born from devotion
to one who my [he]art pleased to tease.

Good luck with your plans to continue
support for the wor[l]d caught in art!
Good luck for the talent that sings you!
Good luck for applause roars most chart!
I'll return into cold hibernation
all alone til your smile shines bright through
the slough of despondent elation,
these Elysian fields cropped by few.

Dear AP, don't answer this letter
should sentiments biased appear,
I'll remain evermore your deep debtor,
who taught me to share and feel near.
Intuitions are fine for romantic,
sensations that blossom in dreams,
but a chasm as deep as Atlantic
drowns my talent, it seems, AP, Dear!

Kindly, sometimes remember I follow
your footsteps as forward they flow,
and the shadow which seems to be hollow
is an echo which helps me to know
how the sun shines for YOU as Apollo
his steeds urges onwards, and though
daily night insight penned Styx shall swallow
tomorrow dawn's brightness will glow!

Oh Dear AP! the contest suggested
I restrict blank verse thinklings to four,
and although I am 'AWE'fully congested
my mind keeps outreaching for more!
So perhaps if no 'honorable mention'
I am offered with trophy awry,
at least I can hope for attention
before ink runs dry, so Good bye!