I know it’s here somewhere
but where tell me where
I saw it last night
when I sat in this chair
I spent four hours scribbling
and scratching my head
and screwing up paper
and shaking my head.
My pen is still here
my blotter my ink
but where is my poem
I just cannot think?
Has it dropped on the floor
is it under that book?
Is it tucked in those papers
Where else can I look?
There’s just one thing for it
this place is a mess
Now is the time
when I sort out my desk!
3 comments:
This has me so laughing Keith - the laughter, of course, of recognition.
Keith,
I felt the same way when I wrote the piece I recently posted:
"Poems Can't Wait"
Poems are very elusive, they are like visitors coming in through our front doors and demands immediate attention, because if we fail to write them down, before we know it, they are gone taking an exit to our backdoors not leaving us any clue where they went.
It's been awhile since I last browsed here - I'm glad I've found your corner that's purely poetry.
I stopped joining writing prompts and just focused on things I really wanted to write. Thanks for your visit.
I wish you well.
~ Jeques
I so recognise the symptoms...
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