The Book of POD: Psalm 69:1-18
1 Save me, O POD,
for tears of sorrow come up to my spine.
2 I sink in the miry desks
where no publisher extends a foot in the door.
I have come into the deepest slush pile,
and the slush engulfs me.
3 I am discarded, crying for help,
my pages recycled parchment.
My eyes fail,
to see my typos, O POD.
4 My readers hate me without reason
I'm pulling hairs out of my head,
many are the negative reviews without cause
those critics who seek to destroy me.
I am forced to refund
what books did not sell.
5 You show my errors, O POD:
my guilt is in print for all to see.
6 May the authors who still hope in you
not be discouraged because of me.
O POD, the do-it-yourself Almighty
may the authors who seek you
not be ashamed because they first read me,
O POD of the Internet,
7 For I endure scorn for the sake of my unpolished story,
and amateur cover design.
8 I am a stranger to my fellow authors,
with the exception of my own mother;
9 her zeal for my book consumes her,
but the insults of those who insult my book fall on me.
10 Though I type for days and forget to eat,
I am still scorned;
11 when I put on my dust jacket
people make fun of me.
12 The publishers who sit at their desks mock me,
and I sing the song of America.
13 But I pray to you, O POD,
for a time that you will find favor,
as in great love O POD
answer my cry bring my story salvation
14 Rescue me from the slush piles,
do not let my writing stink;
deliver me from self-addressed stamped envelopes,
from the deepest slush.
15 Do not let the slush engulf me,
or the deep slush pile cover me up,
or the door close in my face.
16 Help me, O POD, out of kindness and love;
with great mercy, please help me.
17 Do not make me hide my face from my readers,
help me quickly, for I am in grave trouble.
18 Come here and rest in repose;
redeem me, in spite of my prose.
Sent as a joke to poetry.com