Perpetual Nudging
What's with this nudging
This perpetual nudging
Coming from deep within
Urging me to write a poem
A poem of feelings
Rhythm and imagery-
And believe me
I'm happy, willing and able
Grasping for words, perhaps
Phrases with iambic pentameter
But I'm so spaced out
There's nothing there.
Wholly concerned
I swivel my eyes
Back to front, dramatically
Looking within my
Spaced out mind-
Scrutinizing eyes
Probing the many folds
Of gray matter and
Arteries with scarlet
Oxygenated blood
The veins deep purple
Flushed delicate pink
It's quite extraordinary really
This internal intangible world
There's no particular block
Of sorts, no glitches
In the brain wiring
No dead words, no requiem
In progress
I should be able to
Write captivating stanzas
With colorful, heartfelt words
But there's nothing stirring
No angst residing in me
Nothing bothersome
Nothing boiling and bubbling
Nothing provoking me externally.
So what's with this nudging
This perpetual nudging
To sit down and write a poem
Could this one be the one
Nudging?
© 2015 Denise Morgan?
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