Tag Archives: inspiration


Sometimes when I am blessed with fits of courage
I wonder what would happen if I surprised you one day
And I brought you a sheet of paper and gave it to you
You’d probably be surprised and say what’s this
And I’d reply I wrote this about you I want you to have it

You’d probably look at my quizzically
You might read the first few lines or even the whole page
And I’d stand there awkwardly not knowing what to do
And avert my eyes from yours as they oscillated across the page
My heart might start racing and my skin would flush
As I immediately regretted showing you the product of your inspiration
Because I’d remember how strange it is to show appreciation for someone
Especially when it manifests itself in such a raw artistic form
As a poem which reveals colossal vulnerability
And breaks my towering walls down at least a little

And sometimes when I’ve built up an unexpected nerve
I think I should confess that other poem was also about you
And that other one that I wrote last year
And still another one I’ve been composing in my head
And this one too

Tagged , , , ,


“All my best words are deserters and do not answer the trumpet call, and the remainder are cripples.”
— Vladimir Nabokov, Invitation to a Beheading

If I had a brand new fountain pen
and a fresh bouquet of pencils,
perhaps I could reclaim my words
from my fallen writing utensils.

I might start writing the unknown thing,
now just an infusorial quiver;
it’s hidden just below the surface
rippling in this dammed mental river.

If the paper before me was ivory
and free from stray creases and marks,
perhaps a sudden inspiration would come;
perhaps I could summon some sparks.

Yet to make a word come alive,
to make a whole line iridescent —
’tis the challenge within these words,
to heal this poet convalescent.

This incurable disease in my head —
writer’s block with which I’m afflicted —
allows no room for words; instead, it
keeps my inspiration constricted.

The frustrated scribbling on paper
is all my resistant brain will allow;
forming somewhat coherent rhyme is
a task of not here and not now.

I’ve stared at the words for too long now
for this to be anything but a game.
“Soul ship” — what the hell does it mean?
Thanks for the fucking writing prompt, James.

Tagged , , , , , , , ,