During periods of drought
And feelings of self doubt,

I lack inspiration, become a lout.

It helps to go out and about;
Amble, absorb and tout. 

Passers by glimpse the pout.

Frustration mounts. 
Just want to scream, to shout,

To wake myself up with a clout;

Still fruitless at every bout. 

Can’t call myself poet devout. 
At times there are ideas I should flout.

Use notebooks to record, later rout them out. 

Now noises drown thoughts out
Needing and urging result in nowt. 

It’s enough to bring on one’s gout!