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Third, a poem in which I first name Jerry, written c. Feb. 2000 (the first one being the inspiration for this website theme). This poem was also considered for an English contest of some sort by Ms. Minor:

Jerry Christianson
Copyright 2000
I am a slave
A slave to the pen.
And my master forces me
To flow across countless pages
Until I’ve achieved perfection.
Writers write
To express their minds
To translate their insanity into words.
Somehow this insanity gets Published.
They make money.
Slaves write
Into the night
Until Orion shall rise and fall
Come and go through and through
We continue on to the climax.
“More, more!”
My master’s whip
Is cruel and relentless
Though the world is asleep
We are awake, writing, writing.
Poetry
Short stories
Cursive here, print there
On the countless pages we write
Our works that will never be complete.
His name
Is Jerry Christianson.
Yet he writes to no one.
Like the moon clouded behind neon lights
Our works are lost on these modern fools.