Writer's Block

He sits at his desk staring into space

fingers tapping

coffee by his side

has a sip

places it back on the coaster

clock is ticking

time is passing

takes a handkerchief from his pocket

and sneezes

typewriter in front of him

page is blank

scratches his head

has another sip of his coffee

fingers still tapping

leans back in his chair

he breathes in

he breathes out

looks at the clock upon the wall

still ticking

scratches his arm

nose twitching

has another sip of his coffee

it’s cold

fingers hovering over his typewriter

presses the space key

and sighs

touches the keys on his typewriter

and bleeds 

Reviews

[Alfred Kukitz]

Years ago I tried something called Morning Book. Where I would write anything that came to my head. In order to rid the mind of garbage you must write it out of you so you can get to the good stuff. This is similar to your other poem where you lead the reader into the story then drop the hammer. Watch your redundancy my friend.

[BThomvanWart]

When I read this, my first thought was "Yeah, this is exactly how I feel when this happens!" and then I read the last several lines (had to count them twice), and I thought "This is such a great conclusion." The last two lines "touches the keys on his typewriter/and bleeds" were brilliant. I think they outline the beginning of the end of writer's block. Of course, I took "and bleeds" as the act of writing, which I hope is right because I think writing is just that. You're bleeding onto a page, mentally (although, I suppose you could do that literally as well...?), and it's just like that. Sometimes writing is pure torture, other times it's pure bliss. Love the piece!

[Wórdsmíth]

Beautiful .. you captured the exact moments of writer`s block. You`re seemed as a great story teller, nice poem.