My notes tell me that when, in 2021, I finally finished this poem, I had been trying to get it written for six months. Not unusual. I often have ideas bouncing around in my head for weeks, months or even years.
Block An idea forms and your mind is on fire Your fingers are itching to write The eagerness builds, the excitement explodes – Your heart and your soul are alight. You drop everything. The moment is key! You rush to your screen or your page. Fingers on keyboard, pen in your hand And you wait for the muse to engage. Then… Nothing. You stare at the page, lean back in your chair Fingers on head, interlocking. But mute and defiant the page stares right back. Its blankness rebellious and mocking. You jot down a word or two, force out a sentence, Immediately rejected, deleted. For ninety long minutes you take your best shot, As each futile attempt is repeated. You’re beat, feeling drained with your chin on your chest; No masterpiece written today. After all that struggle you can’t even remember What the great idea was anyway. So admitting defeat, you stand up and stretch. Trying desperately not to feel doleful. Tomorrow awaits. Perhaps when you try, Your writing won’t be quite as woeful.
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