Blank
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?
-
Author:
MendedFences27 (
Offline) - Published: April 4th, 2019 11:45
- Category: Reflection
- Views: 89
Offline)
Comments5
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.
That page is so important to us all and we find them very difficult to put away.
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
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....
Neville
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