I Don't Write Anymore

maybe its just a poetic excuse

I don't write anymore. 

It's not that I can't,

I just don't want to put on paper

anything I may abhor.

I don't write anymore,

and yet my soul aches every day

for that chance to explore

the world as it seems

through paper and ink,

its rivers and streams,

and how it makes me think...

and think....

and think.

But I don't write anymore

because I blink

and the thought is gone.

I don't write anymore.

Sometimes I fear its because

the world just isn't as beautiful 

as it was before.

It's purples and greens,

and how vivid my dreams were

in that time 

before sleep was a chore.

I used to write late at night

when even the mountains 

were tucked in tight

under layers of snow.

I could hear them breath

that sleepy breath

cold and slow

and full of rest.

And it felt like home,

that sound would be my 

metronome.

I would write for hours 

which felt like years.

There were no mistakes

because I had no fear.

Each line that I wrote

carried such allure

with truth and meaning

that felt undoubtably pure,

but now, you see, 

I just don't write anymore. 

Reviews

[John the Baptist]

As they say, use it or lose it. Write and don't judge it. Just write.

[fallon]

Noted….. but perhaps easier said than done. Or maybe it’s just something I need to work on more

[Lorry]

I kinda get this, but don't at the same time, simply because writing and reason are so personalised to the individual.
The similarities in myself are all I can mention, because every writer is unique in not only their perspectives of things, but their lives lived and the reason they perceive what we do, think, say and write.
It is currently 1:20 am and I am awake. Not awake late at night, but just woke, as my day always starts about now and it is my comfort zone of silence.
I live in a very rural area, the opposite of city living, which I was brought up in and it used to scare the bejeezus outta me when I heard a bird or animal squeal, but now it is a place of complete calm and usually where I do my writing, although for the most part it barely crosses my mind to do so these days.
The most freeing part for me was an accidental fire, where my meticulous notes and journals went up in flames and fell as ash.
If I had ever thought of that happening before, I'd have been horrified at such a personal loss, but it was actually quite freeing not to have that I. C. D. Like compulsion to notarise everything like it would one day be discovered and the life of the writer be poured over in such detail in only a way that Shakespeare would have understood, so in other words it sent any vanity up in flames with it.
And then covid came along and started messing with my memory and now it would take me a week of planning and forcing my focus, just to write or type anything I would consider keeping.
That's not to say I don't write, I just don't much care for keeping a record of it in the way I once did.
I used to go through quite a thick hardbound journal every 8 or nine months. I have been using the same journal from 2020 now and it is barely a quarter full.
But I do like to ponder thoughts and writing, rather than the writing itself and I still have my fishless goldfish bowl, full of post it notes of words and lines that caught my attention and even once in a while, I go fishing through them to see if they reignite anything in me.... Mostly they don't and I refold them and add them to their home once again, for future consideration.
But now, more than ever I think, I appreciate writing, which is probably why this review is going to bore the hole off you and wish I'd just stuck to the "hey, nice write" review that is an insult to the writer and even the person who considers it a review.
"Because you blink, and the thought is gone" would be a fitting memorial to me, chiselled on my gravestone, to add sombreness to my candle bring extinguished, but that would require doing things, like informing people and who has time to do any of that, what with all the How's and why's that conversation would bring.
Maybe I'll write it down, but I think I might just stick to first name only, dates of birth and death, with a simple inscription of "I was, now I'm not!" 😊
And if I can offer a final thought (yes, please do I hear you scream) then it would be this.....
You do (write I mean), but maybe it just doesn't mean the same to you anymore, which is how I probably feel too.
So now the time has come, to say the words you have been praying for to hear....
The end! 😊

[fallon]

On the contrary, dear Lorry. I could have read on for hours. Your early morning musings are a very good read, with a Vonnegutesque dark humor (who is perhaps my favorite author), and a wisdom that I am grateful to hear!
By all means go on! Your words are more than welcome!

[Lydia Shutter]

We are often our own worst critics. You do write, Fallon....and it is just as alluring as the poetry you wrote late at night when you thought the world was asleep. The imagery here is exquisite. Lydi**

[fallon]

Why thank you Lydi! What a great compliment! A little reassurance goes a long way. I appreciate it!

[Julie McCarthy (juliesp..]

My fave lines here below !
Quote
‘used to write late at night
when even the mountains
were tucked in tight
under layers of snow.
I could hear them breath
that sleepy breath
cold and slow
and full of rest.
And it felt like home,’

Amazing. Loved your write

Please write I’ll read

[fallon]

Thank you so much! That’s my favorite part too! I am happy you enjoyed it.

[Arundass TP]

A negative image of a writer. Don't write. Some say I want to write even after death. Good work 👍

[fallon]

Thank you! It would be nice to write even after death…. Less distraction maybe!

[Sami Khalil]

I can relate too. I think to best write when it comes natural, when you feel the creative juices flowing, when you connect with your inner self.
Enjoyed!

[fallon]

I’m happy you liked it. Glad you can relate.
I agree about natural writing. Creativity cannot be forced.
Thank you for reading!

[Sami Khalil]

Wow! So true and well articulated. You are welcome Fallon.

[Tom]

The poem flows and rolls of the tongue with unforced rhyme and pleasing fluidity, and speaks of a once passionate poet who seems to have lost their will to write anymore indeed I can relate, yep, as we age one gradually becomes aware, disilusioned even cynical, seems nowadays everyone's in a hurry, yes, this world's a much changed place from what we used to remember...

' I don't write anymore.
Sometimes I fear its because
the world just isn't as beautiful
as it was before.
It's purples and greens,
and how vivid my dreams were
in that time
before sleep was a chore '

Inspiring

[fallon]

Thank you very much Tom. That was a lovely review! Yes…. “Busy” that dreaded word. The world has become too busy. You are so right. Also, that feeling of self doubt has crept in with age for me. “Doubt” is also a dreaded word.
Thank you for reading Tom!