Poem: Overdoing It

-

The Spirit is Willing
but the Hands won't work
So many ideas put on hold.


Playing scenarios in my head
black and white, like
a noir film forgotten.


Heating pads like oven mitts
I hold a steaming cup of chai
between frozen fingers


Pencils lay unused
the Muse cries out for attention
I tell Her to wait.


Ink runs dry
dust collects on the letters
that need to be answered.


Thoughts chase in circles
Needing to write, write, write
but fingers cry out for rest.


Tender Loving Care
and the knowledge that
the Body just knows what's best.


Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Poem: Keeper of the Estate (Story in Eight Stanzas, Tanka Style)

-
I. Reading of the will: they are all perched on their seats to hear what they get what has been bequeathed to them all the scheming is for this. II. A taste of power not content with just a bite they want more and more until the entire pie is all theirs to swallow whole. III. The lawyer looks up meets their eyes unflinchingly hides a little smile She had warned him about this Revenge from beyond the grave. IV. He speaks pleasantries and betrays no emotions because it's his job. Even as a sense of pride wells up from within his breast. V. There's shock and dismay crossing all of their faces They can't believe it The very nerve of her denying what they deserve. VI. Of course they protest vowing to contest the will swearing up and down fighting what they think is theirs and accusing each other. VII. Problems with power: any hint of betrayal root it out right now Extirpate it completely only then can you be safe. VII. He sits back to watch this story replays itself and he's
Read more

Poem: Life in the Shadows

-
Skullduggery in the back alleys and run down warehouses of the city the rain washes away all evidence of the blood. Life in the shadows is hard you learn to melt away see but not be seen close your ears to the screams and the cries of the devoured. No one judges you for what you have to do to survive. The ones who do come from the moral high ground and would not survive a single night. Your soul is already damned That is cold hard fact. What matters is what you make of your short existence in the limited time you are here. Will you be one of the forgotten?  
Read more

Poem: Bastille Day (le 14 juillet)

-
Have fun storming the prison free the prisoners lettres de cachet no rhyme or reason of why they are there. No more kings or serfs feudalism is dead Declarations of the Rights of Man all are equal under the eyes of the Creator above. A celebration of freedom parades down the street a show of mighty brotherhood devotion to the cause Vive le France, monsieur.
Read more