I Can'T Play

I can't play with you today, too many thoughts slipping in out my head and the paper and pen are calling for written display; a word, a phrase, some grand poetic form to forge ahead. Go away, stop knocking at my door don't call out my name anymore there's work to be done and I'm not allowed to have any fun. Prose and poetry have blinded me with need to reveal the history of feelings and emotion and if I fall and fail in play, I'll bleed with the emptiness of a tidal ocean.

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Old Buck

Date: 12/4/2017 2:28:00 PM

DM: I understand the feeling, however: since most of what I write is a mere reporting of life, I need to live it before I can write it. :o) I never miss the fun that way. Thanks for sharing this delight with all of us on the soup. Keep them coming. oldbuck

Patricia Cresswell

Date: 11/28/2017 12:20:00 PM

Dear DM I hope you leave some room for play. Poetry would be awful stuffy without a sense of play. Your poem is about something I have often felt then I do something silly just to balance. Well done.