I need a refill,
Like a dried up
ball point pen,
scratching only indentations
on my notepads,
anorexic-ally thin of ink
or thin-ks.
My muse,
the little bugger
is off to Tahiti
or some tropical clime,
wherever it is
our sparks
of inspiration
go to vegetate.
I can almost see it,
dancing topless
with native girls,
to the sing song chants,
that should have
been my next poems.
2,784 days without
creating poetic mirth,
my mind giving birth
to only blanks,
the white screen screams
for something filling.
I hunger for
a verb salad,
mixed with the
oils of adjectives,
nouns like croutons
sprinkled liberally,
amidst fruitful thoughts.
I feast on shredded wheat,
dry and tasteless,
without the milk of kindness,
my muse used to pour on me.
Today is just another stone,
cold and lifeless,
that I've added to
the wall I've built.
it stretches
beyond my imagination,
and that is the problem,
as far as I can see.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Artis
Author notes
by~ Artis
A contest entry
- Say That Again? by C J Weatherholt.
525 points, ended December 12, 2007, 62 entries
Honorable mention
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
1 - 5 of 5
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For someone explaining writer's block, you sure seem to know how to write without a muse. This is a great piece. Love the metaphors, and actually feel like this is about me right now. Thank you for entering my contest.
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this is pretty good. I like it. good luck in the contest. keep it up!
Crimson -
Like this salad you mention in this poem - great metaphors used in these lines. Think you've hit the nail right on the head with your last verse.
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Excellent! Your muse has definatley not run off to Tahiti or any other vacation place, tropical or not.
A very entertaining and fun read!
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Hope you win the contest.Good piece of writing here.To the point and very truthful.Very much to think about in this.Like it alot.Great job on a job well done.
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