The Wind

Writer's Block
It's about the attack that writer's block has on
author's brains. I know I've suffered through it as
well as many others. In fact, I'm suffering
through it right now. Enjoy and leave your comments


My thoughts lay printed on sheets of paper,
Stored in the drawer of my mind.
They are organized, neat,
Nothing out of place.
They can't be touched by outside strangers,
Filled with dangers and cruel intentions.
I'm the only one with the key,
To this infinite drawer with ideas.
But sometimes a foreign gust of wind comes,
It rattles and shakes the knob to this drawer.
Each day getting stronger and stronger,
Closer and closer to freeing those papers.
The enemy, the wind is a master of uncovering.
Of daintily plucking out my papers
Like dandelions on a vast field,
To blow and disperse the seeds to unknown areas.
It does it so discreetly, that I don't realize its actions
Until that very last moment
When the wind turns into a hurricane
And the drawer is finally broken into.
My papers fly out to this hurricane.
Crinkling, tossing, turning.
A complete mess of black and white figures,
Soaring at high speeds in the whirlwind.
I'm stuck in the eye of the hurricane.
Huffing and puffing, jumping and reaching,
To retrieve my sacred papers.
Although I know it's impossible.
I must wait for it to move on,
And pick up each paper, piece by piece.
Eventually I'll find most of my thoughts,
To put back in the drawer, for the wind to come
again.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Song About Old Troll - Lord of The Rings By J. R. R. Tolkien

J. R. R. Tolkien is famous for his fantasy novels The Hobbit and Lord of the Rings. This poem was sung by Sam Gamgee in The Lord of the Rings. Audio clips can be found of J. R. R. Tolkien singing this song himself. Troll sat alone on his seat of stone, And munched and mumbled a bare old bone; For many a year he had gnawed it near, For meat was hard to come by. Done by! Gum by! In a cave in the hills he dwelt alone, And meat was hard to come by. Up came Tom with his big boots on. Said he to Troll: "Pray, what is yon? For it looks like the shin o' my nuncle Tim, As should be a-lyin' in graveyard. Caveyard! Paveyard! This many a year has Tim been gone, And I thought he were lyin' in graveyard." "My lad," said Troll, "this bone I stole. But what be bones that lie in a hole? Thy nuncle was dead as a lump o' lead, Afore I found his shinbone. Tinbone! Thinbone! He can spare a share for a poor old troll, For he don't nee
Read more

TEACH ME

Poem written out of Emotions for a lady Story behind : A copy right of a movie Titled BEATZ RHYMES AND LOVE just make sure you enjoy the poem. She does to me What winter does to the trees She strips me bare, naked and empty. I laugh to myself, because... I can't sing, it's just..  She makes me want to try and harmonize. Like I've got no worries bothering me tomorrow. Like I've got no dirty clothes hamper full of yesterdays ,stinking up what future is left in me. But I really ain't no saint, Never felt love true bliss. A disciple of my father, I learned to love with clenched fists. I learned to love like reading braille on skin. Tracing the insecurities of women through the palms of their hands. But with her, it was different. See, she was in every single word I wrote. She walked a poets refrain. Spoke a sweet soliloquy. But I recognize the lack of trust in my own heart. Because only a fool won't accept the nourishment that's right
Read more

Music By Bessie Rayner Parkes

Bessie Rayner Parkes lived from 1829-1925. She was an English feminist who became an editor of the Britain's first feminist magazine. This poem showcases how nature creates a concert for anyone who stops to listen. "Sweet melody amidst the moving spheres Breaks forth, a solemn and entrancing sound, A harmony whereof the earth's green hills Give but the faintest echo; yet is there A music everywhere, and concert sweet! All birds which sing amidst the forest deep Till the flowers listen with unfolded bells; All winds that murmur over summer grass, Or curl the waves upon the pebbly shore; Chiefly all earnest human voices rais'd In charity and for the cause of truth, Mingle together in one sacred chord, And float, a grateful incense, up to God.
Read more