Woe to Poetry

There’s no such thing as Writer’s Block
So what if I delay?
And pivot to nonsense instead
To shift the guilt away

The pantry inventory’s done
No thing past expiration
Fatigue has quieted my concern
And justified placation

Exhausting hours have been achieved
The sky hints at tomorrow
But why if stalling’s reasonable
Do I suspect time’s borrowed?

Alas! It’s unavoidable
To sense I have awakened
So pen to grindstone I bang out
Some drivel to be taken

For poetry, my inkwell’s dry
I’m no two-genre Orwell
And now the deadline’s come to call
It’s leaning on my doorbell

I dash off, scratch out, and delete
I’m writing and un-writing
But there’s no inkling winking here
No frisson is igniting

I page through words, my turns of phrase,
The things I thought were clever
But Inspiration’s orphaned me
Amidst this cruel endeavor.

Photo by Richard Dykes on Unsplash


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