The Blahs
Expression is not my forte;
foot slipping centipede that I am, queuing up
for my opportunity to speak; my mouth
a pulp of green words.
The clumsy arcs in my conversation
are like fluffed popsicle sticks
underneath the couch, unable to draw
attention. I do not have villas, or cornfields
or seascapes to draw my inspiration;
my notebook blotted with the damp spots
from my ceiling. I am feeling the drum
of nothing a little too keenly today –
how nice it is, to be able to fill my pockets
with the copper useless pennies
of my limitations. I sit with my cynics
lined up on my desk; my pen, my paper,
my chin in my hands and think -
there just is no poetry today.
Jon
Thu 9th May 2013 12:25
Hi Marianne,
Some great stuff in here that weirdly describes the frustration of summoning inspiration,whilst being madly inspirational itself! Gonna have a look at your latest soon!