When I connect the paper with my pen
I often find my hands have their own minds
And quicker than my tongue, my hands are then,
In painting words of many shapes and kinds
Tag: writing
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
A nightmare
Fevered dreams of rains and flood
Wake me in a sweat
Head hits headboard with a thud
Which awakes my pet
Now we are excited both
Break silence of night
Stuck now, tired and out of breath
In dreams’ ne’er-ending fright
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.
321
Forever seems an awful lot
To those who live in doubt
They wonder if they’ll ever have it
Truly figured out
Weight
Infinite weight
Upon my chest
Upon my shoulders
Upon my heart
For no reason
Other than
To weigh
Me
Down
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
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
Sonnet 8
To ev’ryone whose life has twists and turns
To all whose troubles seem to swallow you
To each who can’t determine what to do
And ev’ry person whom for quiet yearns:
Belay the thoughts that beckon you to scream
O’ercome false wants of giving all up now
Stop spending time on why, and when, and how
And what the cruel world has against your dream
Look up to skies of blue and hear their song!
Listen to soft winds whisp’ring through the trees
See how clouds drift with ease upon the breeze
How winds take leaves and carry them along
And in those moments, pause and breathe and see:
The world can, in a second, make you free.
Retracted prayer
Whatever prayers I’ve sent up to the skies
Whatever jealous musings I have pined
Away with them; treat them as pithy lies
I never knew what I, so blessed, would find:
Her.
A Poem A Day 