Writer’s Block Party

Anything I say likely said before I find my poetry quite a bore Poetry is seasoned by my lavender life Like grams yams with cinnamon spice I suppose I’ve looked back and laughed At poems of liquid love that didn’t last Of song rooted in strong feelings of life Remembering those moved on who died I look at my fellow poets in amethyst awe With poems that flow while I cherry claw To replace my staying relevant red fears Posting while ghosting purple piano years I had a goal or two I amber abandoned Which fires my heart like civil war cannon I somehow keep in touch with satin self love Despite my crimes of passion I’m not giving up Tonight is cold and I long for warmth Putting off pajamas preferring arms That wrap me like a cranberry Christmas gift Pulls me peachy peacefully with heart lift Reflecting upon my December birthday Celebrated a whole week in my own way Lunch with a friend a movie at noon Brunch on my heart does the starry moon For night comes and I am alone Not so bad yet I’m lacking a poem For my attention is on what you write And I am happy to red read your insights I love love and like looking ahead As I lay awake alone in pink bed 2024 is coming to an emerald end Shall I write of memories or wait for new ones to begin