Today’s poem’s not a poem at all.
Seems the flow has hit the wall.
The change in season’s what I suspect.
A change in me I don’t detect.
The blues behind, green’s on its way,
what happens next I can’t say.
Sometime a stick of wood is just that.
Or it can start a fire or built a habitat.
And with each box we’ve many strikes.
Some were used when we were tykes.
The rest we save for those rainy days,
when again they’ll guide our ways.
Jumbled metaphors run through my mind.
A start or end I can not find.
Perhaps now stopping is best.
It’s getting late, I need some rest.
It’s time once again for my daily catharsis.
I started late so it’ll be hit or miss.
I’ve nothing planned or grand inspiration,
none but to quench my daily fixation.
The day’s review is well underway.
Mind’s full of notes and the music does play.
My pencil does lure with infinite grace.
Time can be rewritten but we cannot erase.
Life though seemingly unpredictable,
conclusions often contradictable,
our tomorrow’s impossible to comprehend.
But tonight I can write a happy end.
To write from one’s heart,
the sweetest of art,
Valentine’s every day.
To write from ones soul,
a most serious goal,
but stillness has its sway.
To write from the head,
the world’s just our way.
In time and space and geography’s place;
people rush by, each a new face.
All’s directing a no act play.
Scenes overlap and curtains fall,
script’s blank await the call.
Silence screams its say.
A choice to write’s a right to choose.
When darkness consumes the bright side we lose,
left only with blue and gray.
If a life imagined we’re to create,
chapters mate and thoughts relate.
The end’s let to stray.
Been writing introspectively of late,
it’s been months and months without a date.
How much longer must I wait?
I need a break, that’ll be great.
Soon the winter will dissipate.
And a sunny forecast I anticipate.
But paths will always deviate,
the twists and turns we can all relate.
Questions arise without debate.
Answer’s befallen of luck or fate.
Time uncharted I blindly navigate.
My soul wanders without a mate.
Sonnets await the love to create.
Feelings and desires never abate.
A head in the clouds carries their weight.
But a heart enlightened is never too late.
Penned in my head words leak out.
Even tone’s seen with never a shout.
There’s no laughter, whispers or a scream.
The sun doesn’t shine nor does the moon beam.
In two dimensions my thoughts do lie.
Depth filtered through one blind eye.
Torn between paper and time,
my heart beats on rhythm and rhyme.
Love’s too easy when inspiration’s free.
Fear’s too real when the enemy’s me.
Fantasy’s seen with a panoramic view.
Consumption’s felt when all the colors blue.
Life’s many a hue with every shade of gray.
But black and white’s what we read every day.
Yesterday shapes where our todays begin.
And tomorrows start when life leaks in.
I sat to write a love poem,
but fiction got in the way.
My heart now is still,
alone another day.
Maybe eyes will meet,
there’s smiles shining bright.
Perhaps our hands will touch,
and lead us into the night.
Our spirits ever closer,
warming our moonlit stroll.
Our lips free to explore,
the pleasures of our soul.
Whispers echo softly,
our bodies intertwine.
I am hers completely,
she’s completely mine.
The morning sun will rise,
again eyes will meet.
Our hands again will touch,
a new day we will greet.
Our love will last a lifetime,
together we’ll always be.
I’ll write a million love poems,
but for now just fictionality.
In this time of “writer’s block”,
I stare blankly at paper and clock.
With jumbled prose I try to think,
should life be guided by pen and ink?
Does a rhyme decide a story’s path?
Can a re-verse save us from the wrath?
The day is young; there are things to do,
but the sky’s gray with a snowy hue.
The air is cold, I’ll assume,
my spirit’s locked within a room.
Doors will open if I choose.
When all’s lost there’s none to lose.
Persistence colors the choices we make.
Is persistence for persistence sake?
Do we persist simply to win?
If direction’s unclear should we begin?
Like life, love, thought and art,
questions unanswered are the start.
Life ticks forward with us or without.
Thoughts will be shared without a doubt.
Art will be made with all the thoughts had.
And love makes life happy but also sad.
Dilemma’s obscure visions true.
A vision obscures my dilemma new.
I’m seeking an end to what’s now fraught.
The past’s the lesson of what’s been taught.
And like life, love, thought and art,
ends shade poetic an open heart.