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
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