I've been going through a long dry spell, an arid
wasteland of the mind. Writer's block is hell.
It's an empty nest, a dead baby bird in
the wet grass- ant eaten eyes.
It smells like plastic flowers on a tombstone.
I'm lost and starving in the whiteness.
Why can't I write? Have I drank my mind
into mush? The poems don't come like
they used to- the click is gone.
Sometimes, there were four or five a night.
They swam from the river of my soul.
They were my food, my light, and my wings.
A good poem is like smacking the ball
out of the park.
Writers block is a
limp cock, a miscarriage, an empty gun.
It's like having a stomach ache,
and not being able to vomit.
Everywhere I go, I am
surrounded by convicts and a maze of walls.
My mind and spirit are not in prison though.
They fly over the razor wire like
the falcon I saw through the
bars on the window.
He pierced the clouds like a bullet.
I will make the next poem a feast;
blood and feathers will fall from my chin,
ambrosia will pulse through my veins, and I will
sing and soar from the depths of my cage.
- Author: Thomas W Case (Pseudonym) ( Offline)
- Published: November 17th, 2023 22:11
- Comment from author about the poem: If you get the chance, check out my you tube channel where I read my poetry. My most recent book, Seedy Town Blues, Collected Poems is available on Amazon.
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 22
- Users favorite of this poem: aDarkerMind
Comments6
deeply beautiful!
Thank you.
You out of that cage soon?! lol.
Thank you. lol
Very good words Thomas. we all have those times but the Muse always reappears.
Andy
Thank you
I say this only because I know it was your intention . My contention is that other than stories of torture and death and Kaitlin Clark missing a game winning three at the buzzer,
Plastic flowers on a tombstone and
Limp dick are the two saddest lines ever in a poem, so sad I didn’t even notice the part about Writers Block
lol, thank you man.
straight to the top of the page with this one Thomas;
epic!!!!
Thank you brother.
Nothing worse than your passion deserting you aye...your back baby, and the balls been hit out of the park, entered my pocket and inspired me... thanks
Right on, thank you, John.
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