Creative
Some days I am a thinker stuck in a worker’s world,
A pontificator and procrastinator with no clear sense or goal,
I am lost in my thoughts, unavailable for meetings,
Even when I am in one.
Some days I am a dreamer stuck in a sleepless night,
I’m lost and tired and weary, blinded by office lights,
I long for open mountain passes, highways or infinity,
Not a wooden desk.
Some days I am a runner chained up to a chair,
Both longing and exhausted for a road at which to tear,
I am privilege and luck though this does not comfort me,
Even when I’m running.
Some days I’m a musician or poet playfully,
I am the embodiment of passion, love and feeling free,
I need to make something out of nothing to survive,
I am a creative.
Categories:
pontificator, anxiety, art, career, creation,
Form: Free verse
I could sit here and write crap all day
and some self-proclaimed pontificator
would criticize it
for the drivel it is
or
love it,
and call it Poetry.
Open-ended…
Free verse…
Just other names for
“Got No Talent”
and no sense of rhythm or rhyme
but
beloved by those
who adore disjointed thought
and random word.
Yes, I am great,
for I stand on a rock and shout
so all the world may hear
my prolific
poetic words.
And because I
catch the eye
of
One Who Is Heard,
who has access
to grant money
or
others who self-proclaim,
I am suddenly,
eternally,
a Poet.
Categories:
pontificator, angst, funny, introspection, life,
Form: Free verse