Writer's Block

 

Writer's Block: an Irony? 

 

 

Sitting at my desk, a slight breeze playing through the curtains, paper and pen poised....

No flashes of lightening streaking the sky, no silent purple rays skimming through the clouds;

No thunderous rainstorm, or wandering stream, no pearly moon or golden beams.

Silence teases my imagination, darkness stokes my creativity.

How lucky am I? No poet teacher to criticise my forms.

Just me, at my desk, mind warmed for thought.

The beating of my heart, the pounding of my brain, the harmony of tranquility and frustration mingling with the unsatisfied passion to create.

With the soundlessness of night, passing through an endless barrel of black, I anticipate no words this eve shall come.... 

 

....no words this eve shall come.

Reviews

[Salvatore Buttaci]

A remarkable poem! You put into words what that horrible feeling of anticipation is. The writer sits poised to write. You describe the environment ripe for putting down poems on paper. The scene is right but in the end the poem does not follow suit. You are good, my friend!

Sal

[C. C. Burl]

Yes, I like this. Very true, Writer's Block comes quietly, horribly. It kinda teases you. Wonderful imagery, you have a wonderful voice. Flora.