Negotiating with My Pencil

sometimes my pencil and mind are going at two different speeds.

My pencil mocks me as it sits in my hand,
Expecting to be taken to the Poets' Promised Land.
But nothing is coming, nothing is speaking,
Nothing that's good enough to write down for safe keeping.
No lyrics come to mind, no thoughts to suffice,
Can I not think of something of men and mice?
Where are the stories of inspiration?
The childhood tales to provide instigation?
There just has to be something I can say.
I'm a writer; that's what we do all day!
Yet here I'm striving for a simple phrase.
Have I tried how do I love thee? let me count the ways.
Where have the witty and uncanny words gone?
Where's the revelation? Is there something wrong?
No, I don't have a dog named Todo
No pigtails or a blue, plaid dress.
So I cannot say we're not here any more
Because I've never been to Kansas.
No stories of woe, no song of some heroine,
No account of triumph, no tales to spin,
Nothing to share with you that came from within.
I want to give this another try.
I'll even take the road less traveled by.
But only if you read between the lines,
Where there's no telling what you will find.
I can't concoct a simple rhyme.
There are no terms to flow with the time.
So I stare at my pencil
My disappointed writing utensil
That I thought I could use to compose a clever tale,
All of course, to no avail.
Will my story write itself, if I master my stare?
Will my pencil quit mocking me, or will it just sit there?
No, my pencil needs inspiration.
It won't work its magic from a feeble negotiation.

Reviews

[Journey]

I like this witty take on writer's block. For some reason I felt like I was taking a ride on Aladdin's carpet. I was just thinking about a piece I wrote on my silly pen and after reading your words I am going to look for it.