Creative impasse
Posted: Thu Mar 07, 2024 10:37 pm
Ah, writer's block, it’s a certain kind of illness;
One that doesn’t warrant sympathy or won’t
Immediately kill us, but an illness all the same.
It’s cancerous, it grows and I should know – I dropped
To nine stone, lost half my facial hair, because I
couldn’t form a quatrain or forge a dimeter.
But still and still we try, with one eye on the
prize, that elusive voice that one must find
between the line-breaks and the irony the
litotes and the litany. We try too hard, too
soft we tread on undiscovered ground,
searching for something, so rarely found:
Like a murmuration of starlings considering the etiquette of moral turpitude:
Like an erasure poem that petitions the reader about pop culture featuring the voice of God and an eyehole:
Ohhh sometimes, the truth is harder than the pain inside…
Like a poem in an invented form that is framed by temperance featuring a speaker who is definitely the poet and an eaglet unaware of depravity, crashed on a rock, one limp floccose wing flapping in the breeze.
One that doesn’t warrant sympathy or won’t
Immediately kill us, but an illness all the same.
It’s cancerous, it grows and I should know – I dropped
To nine stone, lost half my facial hair, because I
couldn’t form a quatrain or forge a dimeter.
But still and still we try, with one eye on the
prize, that elusive voice that one must find
between the line-breaks and the irony the
litotes and the litany. We try too hard, too
soft we tread on undiscovered ground,
searching for something, so rarely found:
Like a murmuration of starlings considering the etiquette of moral turpitude:
Like an erasure poem that petitions the reader about pop culture featuring the voice of God and an eyehole:
Ohhh sometimes, the truth is harder than the pain inside…
Like a poem in an invented form that is framed by temperance featuring a speaker who is definitely the poet and an eaglet unaware of depravity, crashed on a rock, one limp floccose wing flapping in the breeze.