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Writer's Block What's this I hear about you hangin' out with the no-gooders on writer's block? Stay with them long enough and you will get hooked on linear thought. You know, the creativity suppressant. Now if I catch you out there again, I'm gonna have to turn you in. I don't know a whole lot like you that have come back from the big house, in the state of mediocrity. The few that come back have lapses of inequity and conforminitis for years after they return to the creative way. So you best to get home, you know, where the heart is. There you will find plenty of imagination and spiritual essence to feed upon. I tell you this because I love you. Now, go on home, cause I don't NEVER Ever want to see you on writer's block again. John Riddick (c) JRIDDICK24@aol.com ================================================================================ Writer's Block I guess I'm in over my head...overwhelmed I grasp in desperation for any type of word to help bring me to that next line Struggling I gasp for air trying to hold on for dear life The constant flux of an unyielding tide flowing into a vortex of verse I remain in the eye of the storm seeking shelter from the steady stream of sentence Hoping that it trickles down into a period of peacefulness So many words...so little time Now I maintain my liquid form feeling no need to further solidify my hydrodynamic state of mind I gather myself into the highest form of concentration with the preparations to saturate any living object with my fluidity Making my transition from potential to kinetic energy a reality In the long run my speech is harder to dissolve than dry ice Feeling the pressure building I'm waiting for even the slightest drop of thought to drip down upon me In over my head, overwhelmed I grasp in desperation for any word that can help bring me to that next line Struggling for dear life... Roderick Harmon (c) email@example.com ================================================================================ Correction Fluid The day brings paragraphs to her fingertips. Clean white sheets between rollers ... the bed remains unmade. Her margins set by others. Mind numbed by-lines that permit her to hold down the DELETE key, long enough ... to inscribe another's choosing. The millennia began at these keys, pounding out the meaning of her inner being. Yet, the turn of the century turned out to be ... one less writer sitting by the keyboard. Erase ... stop ... Colon Restless digits fumble to unlock a frenzy of correctness. Punctuated, ribbonless etchings in black &white ... often read by lips late into the night. Grief, in C-A-P-I-T-A-L letters frames her work station. Mouthing the musing of an utter fool ... on Monogrammed stationery She hits RETURN, to jump start a life and BACK SPACE to a time in her now inked-dried PERIOD ... among the hidden words she rights ____________________ Comma ... stop ... Semi-colon a Parent (in parentheses) on carbonless paper. This pathetic actor who slams the SPACE BAR for another drink ... to drown the old silence, in a new way (loudly) she FAST-FORWARDS to her next role. pressing hard against the SHIFT-LOCK yet, remains totally out of CONTROL ... only the fantasies have become indelible She knows the ribbon in the sky spells destiny without her. An index finger away from writing her life ... without Magic Marker She PAGES DOWN quickly, as if she can ESCAPE her own sentence... > Structure < Saleem Abdal-Khaaliq (c) - firstname.lastname@example.org ================================================================================ construction zone i noticed that i had reached the dreaded Writers Block again, this time with no detour clearly marked but (being the bullheaded--though i tend to prefer "determined"--type that i am) i just barrelled my way through the Road Closed signs and decided to ride the unpaved trail until i either break down or break through Rose "BamBam" Cooper (c) email@example.com ================================================================================ "Why I don't 'submit' my poetry" "Why don't you send in your poetry?" I often hear friends say. "Your poetry is very good, and you should receive some pay." Well, I thought about it. And came to my own conclusion, After reading submission guidelines, I was mired in total confusion. Now, If I publish it MYSELF, does that mean that it's still new? And when it comes to marketing, Is that MY job to do? Well it all gave me A headache, When I tried to sort it out. I'd rather just keep writing, Than to send MY poetry out. I can keep my illusions of grandeur, without a battle being fought. I won't have my work being judged by standards, that OTHERS have been taught. Besides, My writing is MY baby, You may tell me that it's 'cute'. But, I won't have someone else DRESSING it, In what THEY deem an appropriate suit. They can't see with MY mind's eye, Or what's inside MY head. So I think I'll file THIS one with the others, And keep them to myself instead. L.K. "Rose" Ford (c) ROSEFORMS@aol.com From "Pages from my mind" ================================================================================ When Two Poets Argue, Who Owns the Copyright?" You never listen to me anymore it's like I don't exist I want you to open up to me and still you just resist It's not that easy for me you know to know just what I'm feeling it's not something I'm used to being emotionally revealing So how come you don't dress up the way you did when we were dating? and hardly do the things I like you said were so intriguing? Do you even know how I spend my day with these our kids I'm raising? at nights they wonder where you've gone and sit at windows gazing I'm working hard so we can eat could it be that you're complaining? It feels you don't appreciate the the strides that I am gaining I smelled perfume inside the car just tell me if you're cheating If once, then too a thousand no's and please, I hate repeating You know my sweet, I've seen of late that all we do is bicker it makes me think that love we had has gone from flame to flicker I know....you know I love you, though I just need reassuring And I love you with all my heart my space I'm just defending I'm sick of this let's touch and kiss each do our part to mend we'll do the things it seems we missed to fall in love again! Walt Goodridge (c) firstname.lastname@example.org
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