when he was writing about rain ....

the power went

blick

blink

fizzz

and his writing

 

lost

 

write again?

 

wrong

because

the

song

 

is gone ~

 

and that old muse

with the pretty smile

and the sweet

strain

 

has flown

 

the

blue

screen

 

so apathetic

now

 

blank

blank

blank

 

wink?

Reviews

[Cicera]

Exactly things didn't go that way. When he was writing about rain, it stopped raining. In nature there are changeable moods and alternating states of mind that adjust in a harmonious unrestrained mode. There is always before the rain and after it. And most important of all, there is immersing oneself completely in the process of writing, that in his mind the writer already begins to create an ideal writing paradise in which the timings and tidings of nature not only do not need to be predcited, they are completely under the autonomy of the writer.

Here we see how in the electrified realm of blue screens everything is on the brink of disaster. Among many other aspects, this poem looks deeply-through a dark PC screen-into the unnaturalness of the cyber and electronic medium. Why as writers we need this is a different story and is not the case that we are concerned with here.

The successively put lank, blank, meek words say that simply this is what is left for me to sing about when it suddenly stopped raining in my computer screen.

So imperfect is this world in comparison to the real one that we substituted. So superficial remains this imagination and so ethereal in comparison to the one we walked away from. This current problem with reality could even be connected to the same question of imaginatin-of unreal things, so to say-but that is also a different story.

Two things I already like about your writing are present here. Your special choice of the words that you play with, and your installation of the title in the body of the writing in a very constructive and equally enjoyable way.