Barren Times In these barren times with no sparkling words dancing about me, I feel quiet and not much more. There’s no magic around the corner, luring me forward, teasing me down a mystical lane where the stepping stones appear under my each and every step, keys under my fingertips, spilling words onto a page, like a tipped bucket of goldfish. At times I am a loom, verbs and adjectives weaving back and forth. They lay down a carpet, a tapestry scrolling a pageant unfurling, covering these palace walls wherever my eyes happen to chance a hesitant glance. It is a brief snub I must endure. In the barren times, I am hesitation in my humble room, whose colors are common and magic is a memory.
I know this feeling—very evocative poem! The second stanza makes me imagine you and your poems spread across the floor, revising and compiling them into your book. Also, your last stanza is gorgeous!
thanks Brian, this poem started out in real frustration after several weeks of zero stuff or writing silly/stupid stuff. I do wonder for how long my present creative output will continue. I just go about each day with my notebook at certain times and see what happens- that's my "method" ha! I wrote one yesterday about flowers and their savage brutal ways.
Thank you Patris. Because of your insight, which extends further than mine, into poetry, I have been thinking about having a forward to this book, an introduction as it were. I would like you to consider writing it as I really can't think of anyone more qualified. I would also understand if you didn't want to take something like that on. Orestis
Am a little overwhelmed by this, dear Orestis, profoundly affected at your trust in me. If you ask I will of course though only if you trust me enough to tell me it won’t work after you read it. Or change your mind for no reason you have to give me before or after.
You truly are a word weaver composing the tapestry of life.
thanks Stan
I know this feeling—very evocative poem! The second stanza makes me imagine you and your poems spread across the floor, revising and compiling them into your book. Also, your last stanza is gorgeous!
means the world to hear such a thing about something that was always just out of my reach...
A beautiful poem about not being able to write a beautiful poem. 💫 love it
thanks Brian, this poem started out in real frustration after several weeks of zero stuff or writing silly/stupid stuff. I do wonder for how long my present creative output will continue. I just go about each day with my notebook at certain times and see what happens- that's my "method" ha! I wrote one yesterday about flowers and their savage brutal ways.
When I have been barren, I try not to show my bare end for fear I’ll live up to one of my names.
That is a risk we must all take....My middle name is jackass.
Yet you’re weaving as you write this, Wes, the quiet falling all around us with a deeper breath and in a color richer for the readers.
Thank you Patris. Because of your insight, which extends further than mine, into poetry, I have been thinking about having a forward to this book, an introduction as it were. I would like you to consider writing it as I really can't think of anyone more qualified. I would also understand if you didn't want to take something like that on. Orestis
Am a little overwhelmed by this, dear Orestis, profoundly affected at your trust in me. If you ask I will of course though only if you trust me enough to tell me it won’t work after you read it. Or change your mind for no reason you have to give me before or after.
Deal?
Yeah, deal-and we can edit it together if it needs some shaping etc. Super.
Then I’m in, παλικάρι μου.