The awful virus of it; the expectations of genius
Arising out of nothing mere attention to the banal
I’ve gotten old enough to just watch and wait.
Here’s a old haiku just for writers block:
Disobedient poems! They never come
When you call. Heel, u sombitch. Heel.
But even if I sat in the grass after a rain
Its still no promise. There are enough poems
About rain. Is there anything else?
What’s between the blades of grass?
Does rain get an afterlife? Are there poems
About wetting ones pants? One should
Never write a poem about poetry. Its seems
Counterintuitive; like getting a receipt for a
Receipt. This is why I think I’ve come down
With writers block. I toss, I turn, I can’t
Break the fever of wanting. I’ve exchanged
The most curious glances with birds
Read articles on types of chili peppers
And gasped when I saw cloud forms
skip over mountains with shadows
making it appear they were holding hands.
But I failed writing a poem about it
Because its obvious, right? You’ve
Seen it. Besides, I felt choked up
wanting my own hand held and felt
Envious. Envious of clouds. Envious
Of the first graze of rain across a mouth.
There are things I haven’t yet written
As there are prayers God won’t take
Responsibility for. Prayers like dead
Batteries. Prayers like expired medicines.
Perhaps I should ask myself here:
What’s difference between Prayer and
Poem? That’s how you beat writer’s
Block. Ask questions: How would you
Spend your day today if you’d been a
Leopard or a dolphin or a cloud reaching
Out for another cloud while jumping
Over stretches of mountain like you’d
Step over cousins sleeping on your dining
room floor. Every day there are miracles
and moments of beauty that need
Poems; Flowers opening, yet ignored –
People changing their minds, animals
That stop and appear to admire the
Light at dusk. They seem to be thinking
of a writing a poem right then. If only,
If only…