Sonnet 11 – Breakdown

Alas! As if my brain had turnt to sludge
I’ve lost my will to write; each lonely drop
Of creativity won’t spark, won’t budge
They each insist they cease, desist, and stop

My lexicon’s diminished, torn to shreds
I’m scarce able to rhyme, resigned to plod
Along all day until it’s time for bed(s)
And write, ‘blah blah, blah blah, blah blah, blah blah’.(d)

Not long before the meter will succumb
To frazzled, twisted thoughts that can’t quite form
Coherent, structured sentences dumb
They make so little sense anymore

Perhaps I’ll turn to reading now instead
Perhaps somehow it can reset my head

The quiet thought

As I am writing in my chair

A quiet thought arrives:

Why do I write? How do I dare

To presume to change lives?

 

Why should I for a moment think

That which I’ve said’s profound?

That all will still my poems drink

When I am in the ground?

 

This tort’rous thought traps me in webs

Of which I can’t escape

While fleeting inspiration ebbs;

In doubt I myself drape.

Holding forth

Holding forth

For something

For something to happen

For something to happen that’s good

Holding forth

For something to happen to me that’s good

Holding forth

For something to happen to me that’s good for me and for my family

For something to happen to me and to my family, that’s good for me, good for my family, and good for the world

Holding forth

For something to happen that’s good

For something that’s good

For something good

Something

Holding forth

Sonnet 9

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How does one find the road he’s meant to take?
When will one know she’s chosen right and well?
Will he yet seen the signs, and his choice make?
Will she receive the answers she can’t tell?

I, too, am drowned by doubt and grayish thought:
What have I done that’s changed this world I see?
Is this what my creator, in me, sought?
Have I done anything but work for me?

I write these things upon a lonely page
Undoubtedly without a hope to be
Someone to change this growing earthly stage
About whom all would say, “Thank God for thee!”

I oft return to ponder thoughts like these
When wond’ring if I’ll yet the moment seize