Featured Poem: Writer’s Block

Barb Whitmarsh
Bayou City Branch, Texas

 

There I sit
Done with trees
Their rugged hide
Their fallen leaves

 

Ended the garden
At mid-lawn
With vibrant roses
And firethorn

 

Through with birds
On twig or in flight
Chirping in mornings
Hooting in nights

 

Finished with stars
Zodiac members
Burned out long ago
All that’s left – embers

 

No more verses
On oceans and waves
Their ships with cargo
And bereft slaves

 

All things come
Eventually to halt
It isn’t the plants’
Or animals’ fault

 

It is the pen
Though often a shock
But will entice again
To end writer’s block

 

 

Comments

  1. Good topic, to which we can all relate. Thank you for sharing this wonderful; poem.

  2. Janet Fagal says

    Yes….the fickle muse! What can I write about? What can draw me in, where have I not quite gone before. Writing is lonely, seat-in-chair work, yet so much more: our muse, critique partners, valued friends. And then satisfying when our words are shared, read, re-read. But never give up. Your poem got me thinking, Barb.

  3. Sandra Seaton Michel says

    That bright a smile.Thank you.

  4. Dorothy Kamm says

    Great poem!

  5. Barb,

    Very clever! We’ve all sat before that blank canvas and waited in vain for our Muse to speak. Thank you for an inspirational poem!

  6. Sara Etgen-Baker says

    writer’s block…I can relate 🙂

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