Kalliope raised
an eyebrow
as I tried
to stare her
down.
“I’m stretched too far,
I’m stretched too thin
…and what is out
was never in.”
That,
my meager offering,
my lonely tribute
– was the only verse
that I could manage.
Yet again,
my Muse flinched
at the sight
of her empty grip.
My clutch of ink-less
ink wells
fared no better
(to wit,
sand in the mouth
blots errant letters,
but, worry not,
those unwritten words
will not make the pages
much wetter,
will it?)
…even though
I filled them
with a million
broken pencil
nibs.
“Great sorrow!
This drought,
this dearth,
this strip-mining
of precious stORiES
and other earthy stuffs…
Tomorrow,
unless it bores me,
you will write
your masterwork
and my eternal spring
will flow from me,
cold and lyrical,
into the dusty cracks
of your hollow earth,
where it will pool.
Re-filled anew,
perhaps worthy,
my dear blitherer,
you: the oft-damned
scribbler,
sometimes with
worthless words and wits,
will swell to the shape
of the poet,
the scrivener,
as either the usual empty shirt,
smelling of its
forgotten wearer,
or the wicked wineskin,
stretched so tight,
that even the red-nosed
lush would not dare to
…a twist of the plug,
a sip, or a gulp,
nary the smallest drop
is worth sharing,”
said Kalliope,
as she crossed her legs
and stared right back,
‘ever-righteous,
godly,
unabashed,
and colorfully swearing.
©️ 2020.
Such loveliness 💙
Thank you. Hoping to shake this writer’s block.
Would never have guessed that ailed you. Been dealing with it myself. Wracking up a ton of partial pieces, might end up meshing some together.
It’s pretty rare that it lasts this long. Honestly, I think I’ve used too many spoons for music. Have to find the balance, but, when I do get a block, the ideas are there, but the flow isn’t. I do my best not to write unless they’re both working. Also, I definitely try to forgive myself when I’m not feeling it and I hope your pile of bits comes to life in short order.
Definitely feel that. I have next to no spoons, been in a bad depressive phase for somewhere around a month. For me, depression and block go hand-in-hand, and I beat myself up bad because I feel like poetry is the only artistry I’m still good at. Been filling the void with food, so I’m wondering if I ate my spoons. 😂 It’ll pass; just impatient for it. Finished one book that I sent to River. It’s not exactly what I wanted it to be, but it’ll suffice. Been working on my next one in the meantime, since she likely won’t get to review it till Oct or Nov.
Keep pressing, lady. Just remember that the depressive swing is a liar and gets tired pretty quickly. You got this.