Romantic Writer's Block

Forest, ocean, hill, and dale
over the mountain for poetic rhymes.
Sun and moon to no avail;
they have been used too many times.
Damned greed poets never shed a thought
for their posterity.

The riveting mystique of the forest
envelopes your soul . . .
Superfluously poetic! I feel the need
to purge my guts--
the way all of these trees
vomet leaves, berries, and nuts!
Though full of fairies, berries, cherries, and canaries--
highly eligible topics for poetry--
the only untapped source
left in these woods
is the fornicating cross country runners!
Hmmmmmm ;)

The sandy beaches stretching out,
milies and miles on end--
like a desert, but the oasis
is never hidden . . .
Youch! Moving on,
down the beach and farther out to sea.
Billowing blue depths of the ocean--
or is it green?
Bloody hell, the depths are buggin' black!
The salty wind coursing through my luscious hair
and o'er my sweaty brow . . .
Yo ho, no go!
A cheesy line for me!

Better than o'er brow,
the whimsical wind whistles through
the whiny whipporwhills,
caressing hill and dale . . .
Enough prolix alliteration--
at least I didn't make an assonance of myself!
Speaking of which, if the wind caresses hill and dale,
I'd like to see what it does to an . . .
Hmmmmmm ;)

Anyway, the mountain.
Mighty, thundering, magnificent montaña--
todas cosas son mejor en Español!
Or Russian!
Now that's poetic mountain magic!
Beautifully functioning,
through-hiker inspiring,
communism that flourishes deep into the Appalachians!
It leaves me wondering,
does food establish functionality in all systems and domains?

Politics aside.
By blazing sun, must
our precious earth abide.
But do the sun and moon yield power over lust
in addition to the tide?
It must be so,
I do aver!
As does the name Ernest,
the word Extraterrestrial inspires vibrations.
The sparkling stars,
the melt-your-heart mars,
the irresistable mystery;
it's a fact:
The solar system is sexy!

Delirious desultory
or profound expression,
the fact still remains:
Yo necesito un café por favor,
or some aqua vitae please.
Sky still blue,
grass still green,
leaf still falling,
moon still waning.
Enlightened conclusion:
I'm post-modern after all.