The art was most masterful on the dark canvas.
The intricate designs, having rich color crispness.
Blending strokes together, shades creating expression
Giving way to natural warmth of self-expression.
Clouds floating across the fess azure sky
Like sailing ships over serene sea going by.
On a sunny afternoon two barefooted boys
Beachcomb the beach, numb to surf pounding noise.
Leaving footprints behind unaware of the world around
Them, ignoring the resonant sonorousness sounds
Of the sea, and inland cold air ruffled hair.
They stand on golden sand, slight spume unaware.
1/30/2024
Return to me O vagrant Muse,
Inspire my thoughts and don't refuse.
Where is my poet's inspiration ?
I've lost that bright imagination.
No couplet, ode, nor sonnet – gone
My creative spark that drives me on.
Ideas, invention sadly lacking,
No metaphors, I must be slacking.
Did Keats and Wordsworth suffer thus ?
Maybe I'm making too much fuss.
A sea of white, the empty page,
I'm like a monkey in a cage.
There're words out there I cannot reach,
Like flotsam washed up on the beach.
So I will beachcomb for ideas,
And hopefully something appears
To break this awful writer's block,
Then I can write around the clock.
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