A Chat With My Poetry Muse

The other day I had a little chat with my Poetry Muse. I just call him P. M. for short, though he's not short at all 'P. M., ' I said, 'Why can't I write any new poems? Why don't you inspire me anymore? ' 'Oh, ' he said, 'Don't worry about that. There are no new poems to write. All of the good poems have been written.' 'That can't be true, ' I said. 'Just look at all the poems that are posted every day on Poem Hunter. Hundreds of them! ' 'Look at (Name Withheld) , ' I continued. 'He has posted over ten thousand poems all by himself! ' 'Yes, and all of them together are not worth as much as a pile of buffalo chips! As I said, there are no more GOOD poems! ' 'At least with buffalo chips, you can build a fire! All of his poems are electronic, so you can't even build a fire with them! ' 'The trouble with N. W., ' he continued, is that he tries to write poems in English, and English is not his native language! ' 'To him they must make perfect sense, but to English speakers they are gibberish, just like your feeble attempts in Portuguese! ' 'Hey! ' I protested. 'I thought my Portuguese poems were really quite good! ' 'My point exactly, ' he retorted. 'Give it up, Old Man, ' said P. M. 'You can struggle all through the night, But there are no poems left to write! '