Missing from My Poem

I try the blues some days

I'm stumbling over words and phrases
I'm littered with a melancholy so fine and rare
I've exhausted my poetic mumblings
across the white hair of my youth
I feel a loss of it all
I can't remember when tulips
bloomed in January
or when crickets heard me listening
I hear myself calling
like a wolf hungry for soul
If you see me at the doorstep
don't answer
I have fallen from the hue of nature
where angels have settled down
I have summoned the call of my yearnings
But my song has left the town.

Reviews

[Alfred Kukitz]

Oh Briana! Thanks you. On reading it again I smiled over the apparent idiocy of my talents.

[Briana O'Connor]

I just love poems about writers block. To have writers block in a pain in the butt so those who can write about it are a breed of genious. Thank you for sharing.

[Alfred Kukitz]

Hey Guys! Thanks for visiting and giving encouragement. I felt kind of absent today. There is a hump in the mind I couldn't get over it.

[MomzillaNC]

Well… it's patently obvious that you have NOT "exhausted" your "poetic mumblings." Terrific imagery. A beautiful way to express, and break the cycle of, writer's block!

[jacob erin-cilberto]

I can just hear the guitar picking with this one...strokes of the blues...poetic mumblings...the chords a sad song that has left town...and left me hungry and crying for love.