by Ryan Lee King
The following collection of poems capture my thoughts, my dreams and random life events that occurred throughout 2006. Beware! A helping of bad poetry lies below. If you happened to enjoy reading them, let me know! If you really enjoyed them, why not purchase a copy?
January 7, 2006
A Ride to Bed
"Go to bed Triston, do as I said.
It's past time for bed!",
"No! No! No!
I don't want to go.",
"Well, son you have to."
Just like that, the arguments were through,
"Daddy, can I ride your leg?"
If I don't want to, he'll sit there and beg,
So, of course, I say yes, and he climbs aboard,
And up the stairs, we go forward,
At each step, he bursts into giggles,
And holds on tight despite his wiggles,
Upstairs, he gets off and hugs me goodnight,
Sometimes we read a story, and I turn out the light,
It’s an annual ritual between him and I,
The nightly ride for beddy-bye,
January 14, 2006
Words Through Pen
Being a poet, I tend to write how I feel,
Because saying it out loud, I may never will,
You’d think expression in voice would be enough,
But via voice, I couldn’t express the right stuff,
It was missing flavor and my flare,
It was bland, meaningless and bare,
Yet on paper, I could say something more,
I could speak straight from the core,
I can’t explain how or why,
Nor do I think I should even try,
Poetry is how I express,
It’s who I am, more or less,
To breathe is to write,
I’ve learned it’s something not to fight,
And so, I’ll continue to speak through my pen,
Now, tomorrow, again and again.
January 18, 2006
Querying is the art of sending and forgetting,
Patience and proper expectation setting,
It's the careful craft of a query letter,
And then making it better and better,
It's the target of a rejection letter's taunt,
All for the sake of getting the agent you want,
It's a long process in which to commit,
To hopefully find someone who's a good fit,
It takes time to research and find the right place,
And even more after sending your queries into cyberspace,
It's like casting a message in a bottle into the sea,
Hoping someone will discover it and come find me,
January 21, 2006
Why is reaching that daily word count,
Such a hard thing to surmount?
I feel like a blooming retard,
Because I know, it's not that hard,
I've done all of this before,
So why this time does it feel like I'm at war?
The characters aren't playing nice,
I'm editing each line more than twice,
I don't have an outline to know how it's supposed to go,
So, I'm struggling with letting myself go with the flow,
Professional output I can't seem to hack,
Why am I holding back?
January 28, 2006
Back to Work
It’s time to get my head back in the game,
Where things were, I'm sure they're not the same,
I've got a metric ton of email surely waiting,
All hell broke loose is what I’m really anticipating,
Crazy deadlines and self-induced stress,
I'm hoping that I'll have much less,
I try to ensure I don't bring my work home with me,
For work doesn't need to be the whole of my reality,
Now that I'm back there's lots of catching up to do,
Probably for old projects and hopefully nothing new,
Hopefully, catching up won't be too terribly bad,
But after such a nice break, leaving it makes me sad,
So, into the towering office building, I must surely go,
What awaits me there I'll soon know.
February 4, 2006
And here face down beneath the sun,
Is the grand finale of the day’s run,
Like a grandfather clock, I have wound down,
My morning smile now an evening frown,
Be it to toil outside or behind a computer screen,
Am I, as all Americans, slave to the green?
Around my collar, I wear a ring of blue,
Will ever my work ever be through?
There are material things left and right,
But none do we need at closer sight,
Is America paved with streets of gold?
No- with trash, unemployed, homeless and cold,
“Proud to be an American, where at least I know I’m free,”
Freedom to tirelessly work for money? Could it be?
Have we forgotten what's really of value?
Friends, family and the red, white and blue.
February 8, 2006
Tidal Wave of Work
Everywhere I look, I find myself surrounded,
I've got a strong feeling I’m about to get pounded,
Everything is coming like a giant tidal wave,
All I can do is try to remain steadfast and brave,
But I’m beginning to doubt the length of my last,
Over me, I feel the wave’s shadow being cast,
Inside I feel my nerves are in a bubbling simmer,
As for hope I'll survive, I’ve lost all glimmer,
If I’m going to make it, I must keep up the fight,
My teeth gritted, and my fists clenched tight,
I won’t lie and say I’m not scared to death,
Because let me tell you I feel fear in every breath,
It is a job from which there's no way to flee,
Even so, I know I can’t let it get the best of me,
It may not be the best of jobs, but it's one I must do,
On Monday mornings, I especially wish it weren't true,
When I see the shadow of the tidal wave all around,
It’s hard to work and keep my head down,
The sharks are everywhere waiting for me to fail,
But they’ve got a surprise coming – I shall prevail,
To be honest, I’m not exactly sure how I will,
Perhaps with a bit of luck, organization, and skill,
I’ll try to stay positive and swallow my rising fear,
I'll try to work my hardest and hope the end is near.
February 11, 2006
How they burst through me,
Reducing me to cinder,
Soul tearing. Fiery.
February 18, 2006
At the Platform
Where art thou, thy Doraville train?
Waiting for you is such a pain!
Minutes and hours, I stand at the platform's side,
Just for a single crowded ride,
Why must you be consistently late?
All this for an overcharged rate!
This wait is pure torment,
Endless waiting is not for what I was meant!
Because of you, I'll be late too,
But what can I really do?
Unreliable transportation for the masses,
I can't believe this passes!
Maybe it's beyond the reasonable scope,
But maybe it'll get better at least I hope,
Arrival at any moment would be ideal,
Until then all I can do is stand and deal.
February 25, 2006
Words that must be said,
Jumbled up in my head,
For a change, the words I’ve got,
They’re just all tied in a knot,
All at once, they want out,
Only so many words can spray from my spout,
Take a number or stand in line?
Not when they all want to be mine,
Between words and time, I’m caught,
For there’s not enough time to even be sought,
To be written is their only demand,
And for some reason, it must be by my hand.
March 4, 2006
The Group Disbands
So where does all this leave us?
I guess there's little to discuss,
I put things perhaps too straight,
Its impact carried a bit of weight,
I didn't mean to crush her heart,
Nor did I want to pick her apart,
But her choice led to the disband,
My view she couldn't understand,
We're just a close-knit writing group,
The truth of it all made her droop,
That revelation cut her to the core,
For she saw us as something more,
She quit writing and thus us too,
That wasn't what she wanted to do,
I do care and support her decision,
Even if it's the root of our division,
You must write in order to stay,
All writing groups are this way,
March 11, 2006
Feeling pinned down due to rapid fire,
The stacks of requests growing ever higher,
Has no one ever heard of a nice relaxing day?
Clearly not since my email box feel like a freeway,
I feel like I'm doing a thousand things,
All the while juggling balls and rings,
I'm doing the best I can do to do it all,
But I know I can't do that for the long haul,
Where can I try to steal a breath?
I refuse to let this workload be my death,
I must remind myself this is only work,
And I shouldn't let it drive me berserk.
March 15, 2006
I hear the crow and his laugh,
I rap the fence with my staff,
His black wings flap as he squawks,
The companion to my walks,
March 18, 2006
Write or Not to Write
To write or not to write,
A writer's eternal plight,
For of course we must pen,
It's just a matter of when,
For we can't deny the pull,
To even try is just bull,
We all know where it leads,
Not to our wants but needs,
It's an illusion of choice,
To hear the muse's voice,
It matters not how we delay,
In the end, we always obey,
March 22, 2006
I'm in awe of how ideas take form,
The product of a sudden brainstorm,
A few words or an image in the mind,
Then it gets a little more refined,
The concepts begin to take their shape,
The finished product leaves me agape,
March 25, 2006
What Will Happen
In 10 years how will the publishing world look?
With declines in sales and the rise of the e-book,
With traditional publishing feeling the squeeze,
Will it grow and change or just fall to its knees?
Right now, it's clear that e-readers are all the rage,
But some readers do prefer to turn an actual page,
Self-publishing is fast becoming a popular route,
Leading many writers to see what it’s all about,
With digital books and self-publishing on the rise,
Will traditional publishing meet its own demise?
April 1, 2006
It's so nice to feel the poetry flow,
It somehow gives life a little glow,
Sometimes words come of their own free will,
Sometimes they sit silently and still,
Some days I don't even have to try,
Some days it feels like the well is dry,
Some days it all just comes out so fast,
Some days the time between words is vast,
Some days I stare at the page, and it stares back,
Some days I'm on an ink riddled attack,
Some days the words just ignite,
Some days I only write because I should write,
It's always a tossup if the words will show,
It's always interesting to see how things go.
April 5, 2006
A “Hmph!” echoes.
Mistress of poetry.
She thinks I ignored her for prose.
April 8, 2006
Writing is Life
The frustration is unbelievable,
The hardship is inconceivable,
The delays we never anticipate,
The deadlines always irritate,
Time and silence fleeting,
Real life and writing meeting,
Inspiration, a guilty pleasure,
Writing’s worth, how do we measure?
When crafting words tends to be a fight,
Why is it that we continue to write?
It's whom we are inside and out,
It’s our purpose and what we're about,
Till the time of our death,
Till our last breath,
We write to thrive,
To keep our soul alive,
For the written word we lust,
Write we must.
April 15, 2006
No more when I am one myself.
A stranger in a strange land,
Surely a lonely curse in itself,
No more when I am one myself.
Survival- the ultimate test of self,
I’m just a grain amongst the sand,
No more when I am one myself.
A stranger in a strange land,
April 19, 2006
Homesick but where is home?
I stay here, there, yet my heart is in roam,
Where I am now, I could spend my life,
Is she really my real true wife?
So much in love yet in conflict and disarray,
Homesick at least once a day,
Religion not the same,
We agree to disagree so no one’s to blame,
I like what she dislikes and the same for her,
Life passes me by in a blur,
I get homesick.
April 22, 2006
Her Writing Challenges
What is it about challenges that spark your motivation?
When year-round to NOT write you find many a justification,
Is it because you need a community to stand beside you?
Or do you need to lead others so that you can get through?
Why is it you seem to need a challenge to sit down and write?
I watch year-round only to see you struggle and fight,
Not against a project or person but the writer behind the pen,
Pushing yourself without a challenge happens now and then,
But in the scheme of things your motivation isn't from within,
For you writing is a want not a need to your own chagrin,
Such talk about the importance of writing and your desire,
You'd think all year your computer and pen would be on fire,
But for all your wants, you just can't seem to find your drive,
So, what is it about those challenges that force you to strive?
April 29, 2006
Why do I do this?
Because if I didn’t, it’s something I’d miss.
It’s a part of who I am,
Bad or not, I don’t give damn,
It makes me happy to write,
Don’t I deserve said delight?
To hell with keeping my tongue in cheek,
My heart demands to speak,
It’s most certainly a gift, not a curse,
One I’ll embrace till I ride in a hearse,
An addiction? A bad habit? A need?
Yet the fact remains clear,
I hold my writing dear,
When the words brew,
It’s just something I must do.
May 6, 2006
Some question if the Muse is real,
Well- here’s the deal.
The mistress of inspiration’s spell?
She’s the personification of the creative well,
We credit her for our success,
In her name we express,
We blame her when we fail,
Her name we curse when ideas go stale,
A woman of flesh and bone?
The epitome of the unknown?
The spinning of a fairy tale?
Our subconscious behind a veil?
A simple flimflam and a crock?
Ah, the antithesis of writer’s block,
For she is found inside us all,
Forever to feed us and enthrall.
May 13, 2006
I love to write,
So why then do I procrastinate far into the night?
When there’s no time to write, I get pissed,
So why when I have the time, it is lowest on my list?
When I don’t write, I can feel the void,
Writing isn’t something I intentionally try to avoid,
For without writing, I’d lose my mind,
You’d think more time to write I’d try to find,
Yet as a priority it never takes the cake,
Is it about failure or the commitment I need to make?
I don’t understand why I keep pushing it aside,
Am I too afraid to confront what I hide?
I yearn to write, but maybe subconsciously I don’t,
Maybe it wants me to put writing aside, but I won’t,
I’m not intentionally holding back,
But nor am I ignorant to that fact,
My writing is a portal to my soul allowing anyone to see,
Maybe I procrastinate because I’m afraid of me.
May 17, 2006
Holding to my course,
Sometimes by utmost force,
Motivation isn’t always there,
I must plant myself in the chair,
My words buried in quicksand,
Never flowing as planned,
Whether I want to or not,
I’ve got to give it an honest shot,
Even when I don’t want to write,
I’ve got to do it in spite,
Sometimes it’s not all that fun,
But I know it must get done,
My marbles may be in full scatter,
But I don’t have a choice in the matter,
Amazingly, down to the smallest gram,
It’s who I am.
May 20, 2006
How does one work the problem out?
Especially when all you have is doubt.
It's quite easy to produce a plan,
But after that, it gets out of hand,
After years of tries and fails,
When do you decide not to follow more trails?
I've been down the rabbit hole many times,
But at last the death knell chimes,
It's time to put this plan to bed,
Alas, no more can be done - it's dead.
May 24, 2006
It’s good to hear from family and old friends,
It’s easy to see that love transcends,
Those relationships are far from brittle,
For them, barriers and time mean very little,
We may not communicate as often as we should,
But when we do it’s all good,
Sadly, the years may pass,
Without a single word to amass,
While that’s not truly okay,
At least the bond doesn’t fray,
From them, it’s good to hear,
We should talk more than once a year,
It’s ironic that I would say such,
As I’m just as bad about keeping in touch,
Explaining my lack of contact is of no use,
Upon serious reflection, there’s no good excuse.
May 27, 2006
Hours of Inspiration
It really feels good to write,
Just not so sure about late at night,
Because at that point, I just want to close my eyes,
It figures that’s the time ideas bubble and rise,
Sometimes I just get that urge,
Like some swelling tidal surge,
When that happens, I can’t seem to say no,
All I can do is submit to the flow,
Sometimes it happens after I’ve gone to bed,
When I get a line or two stuck in my head,
Sometimes it happens when I’m already asleep,
It forces me to wake no matter how deep,
Often it happens when I’m flat out tired,
And wham! Suddenly, the pen is inspired,
Hours of inspiration are completely strewn,
Writing never occurs at the most opportune.
June 3, 2006
They hold to family as their own,
Just as you will do- welcome aboard.
Each man worth his salt against the unknown,
They hold to family as their own,
They’ve flown through hell and raging cyclone,
Just as you will do- do we have an accord?
They hold to family as their own,
Just as you will do- welcome aboard.
June 7, 2006
Ticket to Nowhere
Don’t get on the train,
What purpose would it gain?
If you boarded you need to go back,
Before you’re at the end of the track,
Look deep, deep inside,
Is the end where you really want to ride?
Nowhere isn’t a destination of which to be proud,
Don’t follow the drifting crowd,
That platform isn’t meant for you,
So, what are you going to do?
Come on use your brain,
Don’t get on the train.
June 10, 2006
Not a word comes to mind,
Not even one I can find,
Sparse and blank,
No deposits in the bank,
A clean slate,
An empty plate,
I can’t grab what’s not there,
I can’t pluck it out from thin air,
Nor are they hidden in plain sight,
This turns my knuckles white!
Oh, how those damn words taunt,
Words. That’s all I want!
June 17, 2006
Stuck in Traffic
What’s the deal with all these cars and trucks?
Stuck in traffic- this sucks!
Lines of steel and red lights,
Stuck in traffic- this bites!
Little to no movement in any of the lanes,
Stuck in traffic- patience wanes,
Car and trucks for miles and miles,
Stuck in traffic- playing with the radio dials,
Pretty much still sitting where we sat,
Stuck in traffic- I hate that!
Please tell me we’re not going to sit here all day,
Stuck in traffic- nerves beginning to fray,
Cars and trucks as far as the eye can see,
Stuck in traffic- why me?
June 24, 2006
Ideas Are Just Ideas
We writers like to think our ideas are great,
Praise and well done we heartily anticipate,
But an idea is simply that and nothing more,
Ideas show the way, but we must open the door,
Beyond opening that door, we must step through,
We must shape that idea with all we can do,
To craft it into what it was meant to be,
A piece to be shared between you and me.
July 1, 2006
Sands in Travel
Thousands of miles away from home,
My loved ones are where my mind tends to roam,
So far away from all that I love I ask its worth,
All this work, all this heartache for no ounce of mirth,
Pictures and words are all I have to hold,
My bed is so lonely and so dreadfully cold,
The smell of her hair in the morning and the feel of her touch,
The smile on her face and her kiss I miss so much,
Being woke up early by my cheerful son to play,
His little hugs, kisses, and sayings any given day,
My little furball who lunges and leaps,
Who bites and curls up next to you while everyone sleeps,
I cannot touch my misery that hangs so heavy,
My sorrow and tears can no longer be held back by levee,
I miss my loved ones so much more than I've ever felt,
It stings me more than even my parent’s old leather belt,
The greatest pleasure is to serve but I cannot so far away,
My travel home seems such a distant day,
To honor those I love, I continue my sacrifice in the sands,
So far away from the ones I love here in distant lands,
July 8, 2006
I Should Write
Pen and paper can never hide,
Even when the writer lets his writing slide,
Burn it, box it, and bury it, to no avail,
A writer is to writing like a ship is to sail,
We have no choice but submit and write,
All hours of the day and through the night,
Of time, the muse doesn't really care,
Only for creativity's flicker and flare,
July 12, 2006
A mere index card,
To capture all that I feel,
July 15, 2006
All This Work
Just how much can I do at one time?
I'm already working more than full-time,
Additional work keeps coming my way,
But there’s never enough of the workday,
How am I to get all this work done?
Action items are measured by the ton,
Deadlines come like breaths in a day,
The work I can’t seem to keep at bay,
Every day there’s something pressing or new,
Every day there are a thousand things to do,
Why so little time for so much stuff,
When finally, will enough be enough?
I’m doing all I can do to keep sane,
But my endurance is starting to wane,
I pray and hope the end is near,
That it won’t is my ultimate my fear,
At the end of this tunnel, I hope for light,
Right now, sadly, it’s nowhere in sight,
I doubt the work will ever be gone,
Yet, for some reason, I carry on.
July 22, 2006
I Still Question
I still question who I am,
Are my dreams merely a sham?
Could they really come true?
I wish I honestly knew,
Does poetry only run in these veins?
Am I being choked by life’s reins?
The more I try to control,
The more pressure to reach my goal,
The tighter I try to hold,
The more the passion grows cold,
The more focused I become,
The more my spirit grows numb,
I’m conflicted inside,
I’ve dreamed, I’ve pushed, and I’ve cried,
Why does it feel like a chore?
Am I merely a poet that dreams for more?
July 26, 2006
The muse just had to wait,
I'm sure she thought that news was great,
Undoubtedly, rapping her fingers wondering when,
When I'd ever get my hands on paper and pen,
She's not accustomed to keeping quiet and still,
Especially, when it's forcibly against her will,
Begrudgingly, she has no choice,
But oh, will I get it when she can use her voice,
I'm certain she'll give me more than an ear full,
Probably calling me the backside of a mule,
All for not grabbing my pen and pad,
Ooh. Is my muse mad!
July 29, 2006
I should take it more seriously than I do,
The desire to professionally write isn’t something new,
It’s something I’ve wanted to do since I was a teen,
But I didn’t understand what it would take or mean,
Back then I wrote poetry and dreamed of writing books,
Things haven’t changed much by the looks,
That’s not completely true, now that I think about it,
The pilot light is at least now lit,
The desire and passion are all there,
But I debate if I have the fortitude to dare,
Way back then, I had the stubbornness but couldn’t commit,
Now I know if I truly start, I won’t up and quit,
I do seem to hesitate because of my fear,
But I guess it’s time to get my butt in gear,
It’s going to take a lot of effort to get where I want to be,
One thing is for certain- it’s going to be totally up to me.
August 5, 2006
Swirling whispers are faintly speaking,
Midnight blankets with stars peeking,
Warmth floats on summer winds blowing,
Behind the clouds, the moon silently glowing,
Aromas of the early morning are simmering,
Dreams not far off start their glimmering,
Cloaks of fog slowly crawling,
Droplets of Indian rain lightly falling,
Beneath all a city always bustling,
The street side trees quietly rustling,
The night soon to be ending,
Ancient traditions and new ideologies blending.
August 12, 2006
There's no time to waste!
Home I can almost taste,
Seems like it takes forever,
At times it feels like it'll be never,
For the distance, you'd think I'd be prepared,
I guess I'm just patience impaired,
I enjoy the destination, not the trip,
If only the travel part I could skip,
I know some people really enjoy that part,
But for travel, I really don't have the heart,
It's ironic that I spent years doing just that,
Maybe that's why my enthusiasm for it's gone flat,
I no longer have that random wanderlust,
Instead, now I travel only when I must,
August 16, 2006
Walls of Work
Sometimes I feel I’m trying to do too much,
And I can’t seem to control what's in my clutch,
Everything is coming at me, right out of the gate,
Work is bearing down on me with increasing weight,
When I hit the wall, I push my way through,
But mental fractures are starting to accrue,
Can I keep up this forward motion?
Or is that some delusional notion?
I can’t stop to catch a momentary breath,
Is all this stress going to lead to my death?
I hope not because there’s too much to do,
There’s a list a mile long in every queue,
How I’d love to say, “the hell with it all,”
But I'm afraid that’s not my call,
You seem to think I’m just a machine,
Well, keep it coming you bastards of the unseen,
Despite what you think, I’m not going to break,
Whatever you throw at me, I’ll take.
August 19, 2006
Music is to Poetry
Musicians paint images via notes all over the world,
Poets paint images using words all together swirled,
Music is a grand and wondrous thing,
Music itself is created to listen to or sing,
Poetry is to music, can you see?
As words are to notes, it must be!
Can you object to the words compared?
For their similarities are more than shared,
Music is the poetry of the musician, can you see?
Poetry is the music of the poet; it must be!
August 26, 2006
Clack, Clack, Clack,
Against the keyboard, I smack,
Pounding out what I have to say,
Pretty sure this won’t be all of it today,
Click, Click, Click,
The day’s losing valuable wick,
Yet here I am, typing away,
What a muse of a day,
The pages are beginning to stack,
Only to this must I tend,
For the story is not yet at its end.
September 2, 2006
It’s the smell of the ink,
It’s the way one can think,
It’s the feel of the paper against the graphite,
It’s the uncertainty of writing in the dark of night,
It’s the sound of the paper crinkle,
It’s the feeling you get when inspiration begins to sprinkle,
It’s the energetic push of the pen,
It’s the paper around one in the den,
It’s the thrill of expressing a thought,
The challenge of having the word you’ve sought,
Oh, the joy it is to write,
Every writer knows I’m right.
September 9, 2006
Thoughts worse than a stray bullet,
All I can do is scream "COOL IT!"
My aches louder than pounding thunder,
An oncoming headache begins to plunder,
My energy crashes through the floor,
At home, I stumble through the door,
Almost deaf to anything asked or said,
A refuge calls- the welcoming bed.
September 13, 2006
Last Minute Work
Always a last-minute thing,
Oh, what frustration it can bring,
Just when I thought all was completed,
Something new hit, leaving me unseated,
Right at workday's last tick tock,
I get hit with this unbalancing shock,
Without warning, there's something else to do,
And it requires me to work the weekend through,
So much for a day off from all the stress,
I was left to clean up someone's mess,
Why was it me, left holding the ball?
Fairness doesn't factor into it at all,
Oh, how this does so aggravate,
Why must I fix someone else's mistake?
It's my job, and I’ll do whatever it takes,
But is my sacrifice worth all the heartaches?
September 16, 2006
From the Heart
Putting my heart into what I write,
But prose and poetry are different as day and night,
Poetry tends to speak right from the heart,
It's been that way since the start,
Prose, however, is more like an unbulleted list,
It's fairly dry, but it portrays the gist,
I've read prose that could wonderfully sing,
But my prose never had that same zing,
It's not for lack of trying on my part,
But I can never seem to give it enough heart,
I do better in 1st person than I do in 3rd,
At least in dialog, so I've heard,
There are just some genres I refuse to write,
But I get ideas for those genres in spite,
September 23, 2006
Well, I just changed my mind,
It occasionally happens I find,
I get an idea and give it a swing,
Later, I find out it doesn’t really sing,
Was it a bad idea- I don’t think so?
It just doesn’t have that post-new glow,
Like any idea that’s shiny and new,
I thought surely it was something I had to do,
But truth be told, it quickly lost its luster,
With more holes than Swiss, it served only to fluster,
If it were a short story, maybe I’d see it through,
But since it’s much longer it’s not something I want to pursue,
If so early in the writing, I really want to quit,
How on earth for months on end can I commit?
September 30, 2006
Straight into the lion’s den,
Last minute articles to pen,
None of which easy or quick,
Hit by the work fairy’s stick!
People demanding it done right away,
Even though I can’t until the next day,
All at once, it all seems due,
Even surprise fire drills too,
How is it humanly possible to get it all done?
It’s piles of work by the metric ton!
Prides of people lay in wait,
For my work, the lions salivate.
October 7, 2006
Could It Be
Why am I compelled to continue to write?
To not let writing embrace its darkest night?
Could it be that writing is so innately me?
That if I ceased writing I would cease to be?
Why am I compelled to continue to write?
When at times it feels more task and fight,
Could it be that writing is my open vein?
And that upon the page my soul must drain?
Why am I compelled to continue to write?
To explore beyond the veils of black and white,
Could it be that writing is the only truth I know?
And through it, I’ve chosen to live and grow?
October 14, 2006
My confidence isn’t ironclad,
In all honesty, it’s downright sad,
I question it every step of the way,
Will my writing be good one day?
In myself, I know I should believe,
But easier said than to achieve,
How do I get my confidence to grow?
Hell, if I happen to know,
What’s my writing’s true intent?
What does it all represent?
Should it matter if it’s only crap?
Should it matter if it brings a nap?
Be it a hobby or something more,
It certainly does call to my core,
I question if that’s enough,
When my writing is so rough,
I’ve heard it needs only a polish,
They meant a good demolish,
I can’t find a magical fix,
There are certainly no hidden tricks,
Alas, to my utter dismay,
Practice, they say, is the only way.
October 21, 2006
Mood to Write
How does one get in the mood to write?
When the day is nothing but chaos and fight,
The mood to write strikes at the start,
But really, it’s putting the horse behind the cart,
The day already holds tasks that must be done,
So instead of writing, I’ve got to around town run,
The family comes because they’ve got things to do too,
Right from the get-go, trouble starts to brew,
They push each other’s buttons from stop to stop,
And one by one, my nerves start to drop,
Bickering and fussing more than silence or civil talk,
So many times, I wanted to get away or walk,
They feed off each other, with every squabble,
At its height, my head sets into a wobble,
When all is done, and I finally get the chance,
The muse won’t even give me a passing glance,
Now the chance to write, I’ll have to miss,
How does one get in the mood to write after a day like this?
October 25, 2006
Ink from my own pen,
Words from my own speaking tongue,
My true expressions.
October 28, 2006
Just like that the idea popped out of my head,
That should tell me instantly that it's time for bed,
I know that writing flows like blood in the vein,
But when I'm tired words don't talk to my brain,
Those that do often fall out with just a shake,
Really, it's any wonder that I'm still even awake,
Both my eyelids and my pen are dropping fast,
A glance at the clock says bedtime is well past,
I must try to concentrate in hopes I might recall,
And hopefully, I'll remember before I hit the wall,
It won't be long now- I'll soon have to hit the sack,
Oh, lost idea can you not hear me calling you back?
November 4, 2006
I love the days I'm driven to create,
After a writing session, I feel amazingly great,
I look forward to being in that headspace,
That creative time I've come to lovingly embrace,
Even if ideas aren't knocking down my door,
If I show up, they'll show up, and that's for sure!
We writers joke that writing is an incurable curse,
But in all honesty, we love our prose and verse,
It's a comfort of sorts like a welcoming friend,
In all truth, most times it's like a godsend,
Sure, inspiration and ideas come at all hours,
But what are lightning strikes without the showers?
It's funny that the more I write, the more ideas come,
Behold the endless sea of ideas to plumb!
November 11, 2006
Allowing myself to submit,
Just putting my mind to it,
Learning to not fight myself,
Resting my worry on a shelf,
Cobbling the willpower I need,
Giving myself permission to succeed,
Putting my mind over its matter,
Making my fears cease its chatter,
Taking a leap not knowing where I’ll land,
Pulling myself out of the quicksand,
Really walking the walk,
No longer just talking the talk,
Breaking through the creative dam,
Being more than I think I am,
Reaching voraciously for my goal,
To once again make me whole.
November 15, 2006
This notebook is officially closed,
My productivity is completely hosed,
This isn’t what I’m supposed to be doing,
But ideas just keep brewing,
Haven’t I done enough today?
What more can I honestly say?
I can’t seriously have any more!
Closed sign up and lock the door!
It’s like some uncontrollable force,
Can my writer’s voice grow hoarse?
The muse must be heard,
But this is freaking absurd!
November 18, 2006
Do I Have To?
Why is it that I continue to procrastinate?
Frustration at myself it only seems to exacerbate,
All these little tasks won't ever go away,
They'll all still be here the following day,
Why do I delay what I'll inevitably have to do?
Wouldn't it be better to have it over with and through?
The logical action would be to go ahead and get it done,
Yet emotionally, I know it's hard work and little fun,
Am I too lazy or too darn selective?
Or worse, am I just motivationally defective?
All day I could question myself and quiz,
I just don't know what my issue is.
November 25, 2006
The Right Idea
I can see inspiration everywhere that I look,
Why is it so hard to funnel it into my book?
I’ve got tons of ideas- much more than I need,
But for the right one, I’d open a vein and bleed!
December 2, 2006
Not a word appears to be coming,
I’m sitting here to myself humming,
It’s not like I don’t know what comes next,
It’s just not making it from my head into text,
This train has got to leave the station,
I’ve got to get over this hesitation,
I’ve got to put a word down, any at all,
Anything to get me past my stall,
I can change it later if it’s not quite right,
The important thing now is just to write,
I need to dig deep and plow ahead,
I need to write with my heart instead of my head,
For now, I’ve got to put perfection aside,
And write the words held captive inside.
December 9, 2006
Ton of Work
More to do than a mortal can,
Not at all going according to plan,
Mounds of work no longer a metaphor,
Everywhere I look piles and piles galore,
Healthy helpings continue to stack,
Where I'm at, I've completely lost track,
I'm supposed to get all this work done,
Yet there's not enough hours or sun,
My monitor's light peaks over the piles,
Onto my open grave of paper and files,
Odds of me getting it done are bleak,
It keeps growing every freaking week,
Even if I raise my hand and say no,
The amount of new work doesn't even slow,
I just want to put the new stuff on hold,
But even on that I'm getting rolled,
If the workload can't diminish,
How the hell am I supposed to finish?
December 16, 2006
While you still can,
Before the bug bites you,
For once the bug has bitten you,
December 20, 2006
Continuously hammered from left to right,
Not sure how long I can keep up the good fight,
My boss keeps hitting me with more fire drills,
As the lengthy list grows, my pounding head reels,
There’s no time, and our team is low on resources,
Yet they keep coming, as long as my blood courses,
“No” isn’t an option for leadership these days,
But just how many issues can leadership raise?
For them, everything needs to be fixed now,
Yet they haven’t a single clue as to how,
But I guess that’s where I come into play,
They always to look for me to find a way,
Last second fire drills and deadlines that are firm,
Being overloaded is quite the inadequate term.
December 23, 2006
Inspiration translates into many forms,
As well as the trigger for brainstorms,
Inspiration is how it all gets its start,
Then it becomes songs, stories even art,
Inspiration is quite the elusive creature,
But it can be the best kind of teacher,
Inspiration is the source’s true voice,
But whether we listen is our choice,
Inspiration is bold but sadly fleeting,
It can be gone before its greeting,
Inspiration is both a blessing and a curse,
The bringer of music, paint, and verse,