Writer's Block

On Frittering Away Time

A writer is an expert

On frittering away the time

Anything except

Commitment to the verse and rhyme

Stay away from muses

Paper and the pen

And cultivate excuses for the malaise to start

again.

Writer’s block-it’s got me

Tied up in a ball

Stymied once again

Oh shoot-my back is to the wall!

My thoughts, they are a vapor

Flying to the air

When they are gone I am not sure

If there are many more to spare…

I’ll cultivate a phobia

Or a neurotic flair

What if I put on my scarf

Or take a walk up there?

No! I’ll create a heroine

And she can take my place

Deciding which verse to keep

And which to, of course

Erase.

Anything except to face

Myself

(And audience alike…)

To delve way down deep

Where my secrets sleep

And grant to them, a life.

(Copyright K.A.P. 2011)

Morning...

Morning draws nigh-
exciting the senses
Like a long, cool drink.
Jolting the eye
and exuding life
to all it
touches.

Each soul
has the capacity
to be lifted higher
by the
newness
that the morning light
proffers...
Lift. Surge
and higher, still.
Find new wings,
ignite the will.
Such are the thoughts that flutter by on the wings of
the morning.
(Delude yourself no more...)
The morning belongs to the brave.

Unspoken

(March Morning)

Unspoken

Do I wash up on the seashore,

To be kissed by the fiery sun?

For that’s what I sometimes feel like,

When my day is done.

And will I rise up to meet you,

Like a vapor that rises in air?

If my thoughts happen to find you,

Will you then meet with me there?

And if my thoughts rise like dew droplets

Strata upon strata they shine-

Will they appear like a rainbow,

With illumination divine?

If I rest in a quiet corner

With my hands folded nigh

On my breast,

Will you then stroke my dear forehead

And comfort in spite of protest?

In the quiet

Can I be like a moonbeam?

And travel through space and through time?

Can I touch gentle people-their faces

Reflections, of Your light sublime?

Tender hearts crocheted all together;

Knit like a sweater, so fine.

Function and purpose; One Body

And many colors combined.

And if I search in right places

And I mine and I dig and I dig;

Will you hold my hand beside you,

As together- we dance a good jig?

And if then we rise light, together

And come down in a place all green-blue…

Will you sit right here beside me,

My heart an echo of you?