Mining thoughts for golden nuggets
For any kind of creative appeal
For anything present ready to spill
Trickle from between suddenly quiet head space
Misplaced troubles is the source of this
Fallowed ground left open and split
Is my time close, my signal to quit?
I expected poetic expression with a bit more wit
Pit of black, dammed flow,
Empty screen where words should go
Confused rhetoric, colloquial phrase
Still suffer from the need for praise
Raise my thoughts like community children
Like a Sunday hallelujah choir
Like amens going higher and higher
Until blessings in the form of stories rain down
Now you can follow me ’round
Along blocked, twisted paths
Not to salvation or hearty laughs
But to frustration and convoluted poetry
Me
Not just me
But I hate this dammed creativity
(Or the lack thereof) eluding me
Metaphor(ically) speaking
Simile tweaking
Desk chair squeaking
Like the air blowing through my mind
Mind you I’ll finish soon
Not with something to make you swoon
Less arousing, more…
Grousing about my missing words
And where the hell are my words when I need them?
Hopscotching on cool sidewalks, effing losers
Glad you could lurk stop by
And listen to me bitch talk