Writer's Block

on it

What should I do when I realize
That my brain is not
An ocean of thoughts,
A realm of possibilities,
Where I could set sail,
Embark,
On a voyage of discovery and possible contentment.

But a shallow lake which gets bone dry
On hot, sweltering summers, so that
There is a hint of salt and a thin layer of evaporites,
Left until it rains again
"God knows when".

When I had picked the pen,
You did not forewarn me at all
And look now what you have done
You careless Ambition, You mad Desire.
I am engulfed in a total eclipse
All I've got is dark shadows and faint dusk.

There are ideas and there are words
But there is the endless sea between them
Which I know I cannot swim across.
You did not teach me how to swim,
I cannot improvise when I know I can drown
Nor did my emaciated, starved soul
Possess the stride for such an adventure.

There were times and there were hours,
In the past , sans nombre
When frustration was a dear friend of mine.
I asked him to sit with me
Greeted him with warm coffee
And a chocolate cookie.
And chatted with him ,
Away
Until he said "It's late, I gotta go".

These days he won't come for that coffee
He's too wise you see.
Instead he would sneak in through the backdoor of my house
And hide in my bedroom closet
And finally into my comforter on my bed.

I cannot go to office now,
I do not go to office now,
I need to be sick and unwell,
I need to write real good .
I was hoping Kapka Kassabova
Would be my greek goddess tonight
And teach me how to love when I write
And how to write when I love.

She could warn me not to be haunted
By a past which I have not seen
Ancient civilizations where I and She
Were estranged lovers who never met.

Why don't I take the public bus
On a cloudy and chilly day in Texas
Wait for it,
And watch the cars rush by me on the highway.
It would take me to an abode of ideas
To Himalayas of thoughts
And build me a bridge of pebbles
Somewhere in the sea.

I may only have two hours now
Or Three if I don't eat or take the shower
But I could and I should head home
Where it rains and it drizzles;
Droplets on my bare skin and toes
Which feels oceans beneath my feet.
Slowly.

I should keep walking faster and faster
Till beads of sweat on my chin and my throat
Become indistinguishable from the rain.
And add to that riveting flow
A drop in the Ocean
Where you all come to swim.


© Nothing Personal. December 22, 2010.

Author's Note

The poem is deeper than title, I assure you all

Reviews

[underwriter]

again another fantastic write! i love the humor you slot into it. it makes it come alive a more. not that it needs any help! wow, truly inspirational writing!
"There were times and there were hours,
In the past , sans nombre
When frustration was a dear friend of mine.
I asked him to sit with me
Greeted him with warm coffee
And a chocolate cookie.
And chatted with him ,
Away
Until he said "It's late, I gotta go"."

[KAREN]

I think all of us as writers fear the time writer's block may hit! You hit a home run with this write!

[roarke]

Deep indeed. The first five stanza's invaded my mind and stole my own private thoughts.... thief. Then the last half introduced me to a private life, a personal "seeing through the eyes" voyeurism into creativity and vulnerability... marvelous. Magic. True essence.
Bravo.

[KATHY SUE SILLS]

Excellent poem! I've never had writers block, YET! But you wrote about it So brilliantly!

[Jeff]

Great poem. I hate writer's block as do most writers. But you know when you think you won't write again, you find your spark.

[HopelesslyDevoted]

this is exactly how i felt yesterday and i'm still struggling with it today. isn't it great though, that even writers block can make a great poem? :) like this one

[Escape My Fate]

This poem is amazing. Great job :)

[em]

- oh this is brutal - it is a ruthless conversation with one's sensibility and one's sensitivity - as i interpret it - it is bitter - in places - and sympathetic to the point of being brittle - in others - it moves the poet - it moves the soul - it traverses many looks into one's eyes in the mirror - and it captures the true grain of these hard conversations - and yet - there's no denying - the absolute value - and imperative presence - of the poetic voice inside - the one - that lets - the sensitive soul live and breathe - it is in the expression through poetry - that survival becomes possible - there's no denying - that going to work - without words - would be more unbearable - than not going - with -

[Dream Slave]

Finding truth inside the ocean of ideas, picking it out from all the lies. Sometimes we can get lost withing this maze and lose touch. Just so many meanings to this... hard to grasp them all.

[Deviant Works]

"But a shallow lake which gets bone dry
On hot, sweltering summers, so that
There is a hint of salt and a thin layer of evaporites,
Left until it rains again
"God knows when".

These words could not be more true and are completely depressing.:) This is a great poem, beautifully written words which define the very struggle I am attempting to overcome. I know sooner than later I will make that journey between ideas and words. Thank you.

[Coyote Poetry]

I wish I could take a long walk on the beach. Dance in a Winter storm in the big waves. Life is time. We must find time to enjoy life and laugh. I wish I could join you on a swim into the sea. A excellent poem. A lot of strong statements.
"To Himalayas of thoughts
And build me a bridge of pebbles
Somewhere in the sea."
A outstanding poem.
Coyote