Writer's Block

My head is empty, vague and numb,
And inspiration fails to come.
Mind whirls around and I can't stop it,
I fear the worst, I think I've got it.

I've jotted down on bits of paper,
Scraps of poems to finish later.
When later comes it seems I never,
Ever get those scraps together.

I could perhaps string words in line,
Meterless, and without rhyme.
Nothing fitting, of no worth
And call the things, 'Old John's Free Verse'.

I wonder if old William S.
Sometimes got in selfsame mess.
And when his meter wouldn't fit
Said unpoetic things like ---t.

I bet there was a time or two,
The mediaeval air turned blue,
As he said a naughty word
When he thought he was unheard.

But please excuse me, I digress,
'Tis I who's in this wordless mess.
I'd best press on with thought and text,
OH DAMN! - I wonder what comes next.