The blank page calls me

to all of its natural whiteness.

Eerie and ghostly

it craves fulfillment.


My sad blank mind

lies helpless before it.

Empty and uninspired

it lacks direction.


Where do we go from here?

Can we co-exist?

The page and I

we feed each other.


With the words, the ideas,

and hopefully the art.

With the means of creation

and the mechanics of sharing.


But, in this drought of imagination

when words, ideas, and certainly art

are as dry as a California hillside

perhaps, a wildfire would bring new life?


If there is a seed of flair

beneath the surface debris

can the page and I set match

to rubble and clear new fields?


Will the rain come in time

to save us both from extinction?

Will we be able to nurture

the seedlings growth?


Can the page and I

grow separately

without growing apart?


  • Fay Slimm.

    Excellent reflection on the poet's relationship with words on a page - you got it in one Phil and that last question did it for me - - growing together yet separately - - would love to know the answer to that
    - - great read and thank you.

  • Goldfinch60

    That page is so important to us all and we find them very difficult to put away.

  • Suresh

    On the subject of a blank page, I remembered the words of an Indian song, I enjoy listening to. A crude translation goes like this:
    My life started as a blank page, and is now again a blank page. What was once printed on it, got washed away by my tears.

    On your poem, brain freeze is the artists biggest nightmare, but you spelled it well

  • Neville

    to put it blankly if one wants to understand the marriage between cognition, pen page and ink

    One has to read between the lines.... Made me think no end sir....


  • MendedFences27

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