•
the virgin page taunts me
untouched
the bright white
throbs like a migraine
no burden of remorse
no weight of mystery
does it bear
no sting of anger
no wink of mirth
does it proffer
nothing sensual or sensitive to share
no tale to spin
no plot to thicken
no coin of phrase to turn
just vast blank space
tormenting nothingness
cruel emptiness
to drain my brain
dissonance spills through my open window
the scatter of autumn showers
stir of october wind
rustle of moist leaves
in the distance
muffled keens
bursts of barking
far off yelps
the edgy piercing din
of dripping prowling night
intrudes in damp insistence
to fill my head
fevered with frustration
to leave not one small space for wit
the search for insight all for naught
no spark to light this dark
no muse in sight
nothing clever or profound
in the air this night
chilled
slack
uninspired
• • •
rob kistner © 2011
A wonderful poem about the
process, the cursed block; not
my block, but a familiar one to
the word dwellers among us.
This was tricky, for you have
written a great poem about
not writing a poem; impressive.
Wow, Rob, if this is “uninspired”, do invite me back when the Muse strikes. This is fantastic – I especially love the verse beginning with “dissonance”…….so well done!
Sounds profound to me… and so eloquent, beautiful… I love the first line, Rob.
im glad my page cannot talk to back to me for the most part! i have a feeling it would say “that writing is crap! and look, you’ve gone and ended another sentence with a dangling preposition!”
Templeton – that’s why I ignore all rules and just write, except when I can’t… 🙂
Sometimes there’s nothing for it but to get up and go for a long walk.
nice poem about writer’s block
Well, you certainly don’t have that problem. This was fantastic.
If I could write like this when my muse was on a walk-about I’d be well pleased! Delightful.
Oh dear! And yet you came up with this marvelous poem! I especially liked the descriptions of outside world.
a wonderful poem, Rob– intimate in tone and yet beautifully crafted– each of us knows this blue state…xxx …of being….jammed up…xj
You write impressively about not being able to write!
“Tormenting nothingness” has a ghostly, dark presence in this poem!
“The bright white throbs like a migrane.” What an apt description.
Love it! And, I know the feeling!
..simple and complex all at the same time and arrangement.. fantastic!
Dear Rob: Artful cadence, wordsmithy! Your perfect stream of consciousness does flow but not for thee, “to wit” when nothing can stir the muses. Do adore how you bring in the mis en scene making the words actually placed in a real time setting; the writer’s desk by block.
I do love this line the best;
the bright white
throbs like a migraine
Oh to face that cursed “bright white”!
A splendid treatment of “the block” My little Magpie has a remedy . . .
I liked the sounds of the dogs etc suddenly impinging, so your narrator has raw material for poetry after all, without noticing. 😀
I love this! I love your play with words, your tease. Thanks for this! I noticed you are into prompt sites. Perhaps you would enjoy this one http://misfitin.blogspot.com/
-Misfit
The muse WILL come back. It always does.
Cheers,
Arnab Majumdar on SribbleFest.com
I love the notion of the virgin page…yes…she taunts…
Writing about nothing can be just as good as writing about something!
Wow, Rob,
This was truly beautiful!
I guess even our muses make liars of us. For not being inspired you wrote a beautiful poem!
One wonders how this might translate to the computer screen…interesting!