On the tip of the mind, Something exists there, Can I get it to come out and play? What must I do, To cajole it out of its hiding spot, Wedged in so deep, Never budging from its haunt, Crashing, banging, clashing, clanging, Nothing seems to work, What recourse is left, But to shirk, Around its blindside, Push it until, It works, And off the tip it will come, To ...
If one has paid any attention to the dates on my blog, and poetry, one sees a frightening trend... huge tracts of time between poems, and posts. What was the cause of this? Why none other than a blockage in thought, not in ability to write, or ideas for writing. Ah, but surely I must ...
There is no way forward without a look back. To see the errs that one has committed, for the sake of the belief of feeling. Letting the many command without moving forward... time drains, and yet the refrain remains the same. A crime to be self that is declared wrong, yet all ways are blocked so that ...
