It's Not Me, It's You

Fair warning:

Today is not your day.

I don’t have time

to give you attention

and God knows

you need

a lot of it.

My plate is full.

I have a job. There are

students to teach, papers

to grade, people

to meet. As we speak,

there are

online forums

awaiting

my moderation.

And though you may

laugh, I’ll have you know

that I have other

things in my life

to write,

like emails

and reports.

And I’ll just say it:

I find their

non-figurative nature

surprisingly

attractive.

Their straight lines

leave me less
twisted and
tortured with
self-doubt.

And when
we are finished,
they don't
make me roll them
around
to feel how they
sound
before
I send
them
out.

Spool

The sleeping thread
keeps close to its spool,
its ends hidden
from probing fingers,
wrapped in batting,
zipped tight in a pouch,
reveals nothing
of its potential energy—
Guarded by an imperfect memory
that knows
the danger
of letting loose
its kinesthetic possibilities
of complete separation,
of unraveling—
Protected by the itchy persistence
of one who knows the chaos
of tangled fingers
and endless webs—
Recalls enough to confirm
that neither end
has any business
near the eye
of a needle

Core

When what’s at the center
is a black, leaking hole
at that point
there's not much to know
No man-made chemicals—
neither dispersants nor antacids—
can stop the flow
And then if all the muscle goes
into the plugging of it
there’s not much left
in the way of energy
or intuition
or intellectual heft
to address questions of origin
or birth
least of all matters
of self
or worth
~~~~
I have been suffering terribly from writers block for over a week now and have not fulfilled my partial NaPoWriMo pledge! I've decided, however, to not beat myself up about this any further, and just see how many poems I can post over the next few days. This poem is a response to one of Big Tent Poetry's prompts from last week, which asked us to write about what is at the core or center of something. This brought up memories of some emergency surgery I had a few years back, and I went from there to this...

Wish me luck!

It's been a bit of a dry spell for me lately--

so I'm off

to a cabin on the lake

where I hope to work on my relationship

with my poetic muses

My goal is simple but daunting--

to have at least one poem

to post by Monday

The longer I delay

the next poem

the harder

and scarier

it is to write it

and the easier it is

to put it off

I hope to return

with a postable poem

and I plan to visit

my favorite blogs

once again

Wish me luck!

I miss writing and just as much

I miss all of you.

Day 23 and it Feels Like Herding Cats

the bad stanzas
hiss and scratch at my eyes
before they run away
the good ones
are also hard to herd
they dart around the room
and knock over vases
before purring and curling
themselves
nicely on my page
and even then, I am left
needing an antihistamine
when we’re done

Here's what I did with today's NaPoWriMo prompt "unlikely couples"...

Writer's Block

Buds on the trees
In January
Have left me
Wordless.
Without my security
Blanket of
January snow,
The stanzas
Stand silenced.
My metaphors
Mistrust the warmth,
And they should.
A literal thaw
Brings no
Figurative good.