Pirate's Block Poem by Captain Cur

Pirate's block, what a fell and fallow curse,
my imagination in a hearse
buried in the cemetery of rhyme
suffocates one shovelful at a time.

Is being unproductive a high crime?

We all deal with this accursed malady
as I drown in ink my quill's agony
then I stare at the yellow parchment raw
and dig up old love letters from my drawer.

Maybe I should give Queen Mary a call?

But I have a unique method to break
the uninspired feelings that I fake,
I simply kidnap someone else's sprawl
as I gut words from their poetic drawl.

Perhaps I should give John Dryden a call?

There are other methods that I entail,
rum helps to lubricate my tongue tied squeal
or I can engage in some winsome play
swinging my sword and simply rant away

exactly as I am doing today!