Writers Block

The awful virus of it; the expectations of genius

Arising out of nothing     mere attention to the banal

I’ve gotten old enough to just watch and wait.

Here’s a old haiku just for writers block:

Disobedient poems! They never come

When you call.  Heel, u sombitch. Heel.

But even if I sat in the grass after a rain

Its still no promise. There are enough poems

About rain. Is there anything else?

What’s between the blades of grass?

Does rain get an afterlife? Are there poems 

About wetting ones pants? One should

Never write a poem about poetry. Its seems

Counterintuitive; like getting a receipt for a

Receipt. This is why I think I’ve come down

With writers block. I toss, I turn, I can’t

Break the fever of wanting. I’ve exchanged

The most curious glances with birds

Read articles on types of chili peppers

And gasped when I saw cloud forms 

skip over mountains with shadows

making it appear they were holding hands.

But I failed writing a poem about it

Because its obvious, right? You’ve

Seen it. Besides, I felt choked up 

wanting my own hand held and felt

Envious. Envious of clouds. Envious 

Of the first graze of rain across a mouth.

There are things I haven’t yet written

As there are prayers God won’t take

Responsibility for. Prayers like dead

Batteries. Prayers like expired medicines.

Perhaps I should ask myself here:

What’s difference between Prayer and

Poem? That’s how you beat writer’s

Block. Ask questions: How would you

Spend your day today if you’d been a

Leopard or a dolphin or a cloud reaching

Out for another cloud while jumping

Over stretches of mountain like you’d

Step over cousins sleeping on your dining

room floor. Every day there are miracles

and moments of beauty that need 

Poems; Flowers opening, yet ignored – 

People changing their minds, animals

That stop and appear to admire the

Light at dusk. They seem to be thinking

of a writing a poem right then. If only,

If only…