So Creeping Jennie was my inspiration for this poem.ï¿½ I am sure anyone who writes with any frequency, can relate.
inspiration lost... my muse I cannot find
happy-go-lucky lines, finding their hole to hide in, making me search far from base
good spot i must say...
when i read the signs, that should point the way, they appear upside-down
blank wordless sheets of metal, bolted permanently to their posts
no "stop" "go" or "caution"... no provocation for inspiration
wishing they'd merge, and show me the way
searching for words, with no direction
finding my pencil broken, no ink protection
like finding the beach bare with no water or waves to crash and soothe just an endless reach of sand
like times square soulless... no one to avoid walkaround, or run into just empty streets
how well can a muse hide when there is nothing to hide behind?