A poet writes
of the yellow brick Road to the Wizard of Oz
I’m grasping at straws

Poetry of substance Worthy of a cause

I’m Grasping at straws
I read poetry without flaws

I’m grasping at straws
Poetry so deep in content, I am in awe

I’m grasping at straws
Poetry so reflective I have to take a pause

Yet still I’m grasping at straws

This is more than writer’s block
My Acadian clock stopped

My brother passed away
I can’t find anything to say
Can’t breathe I cry and pray

Words betray my heart
Numb my brother and I apart

My Tears will stop life will be OK
I hope today would be a better day

I read poetry to fill the hole
Until grief, depression loss lets me go
Living moment, by moment is all I know

A rebel without a cause
I’m grasping at straws

Inspired song

Take this pain
By Jake Banfield 2022

I've whispered in playful minds,

Brilliant people of all kinds.

I whisper then vanish,

sometimes odd and outlandish.

I never truly end,

just many others to attend...

I try to write but nothing seems to come to mind.
"Oh how about this?" Nah, that sounds foolish.
I know I'm smart but it's like my brain just restarts.
Oh what to write.

my hands graze the keyboard
words swirl like a whirlwind in my mind
stuck in a cage
held captive
the words can't escape
my hands graze the keyboard
then shut the laptop off
why?
my efforts are fruitless
with the writers block
holding my down

the letters form in my head
colliding to form words
but they don't make sense
and the page stays blank
just when I think I've got it
it wiggles out of my grasp
and writer's block wraps me
in its shackles

“I don’t really exist, and I know I don’t exist,”

so it says – being latent, until it’s been found.
Where I sometimes break down by the corner
of Writer's block; where the drive I had for
something, finds an abrupt stop.

In truth,

this Writer's block doesn't exist; it's just
a point of time, the writer needs to BREATHE.

A blank book
Stares back at me
An unwritten verse
Of poetry

My future novel
Full of events
Leather bound story
Missing contents

A clear mind
Dogged by history
Halting the flow
Of this
unfinished mystery

Months of regress
A total non-starter
A comedy of errors
Missing the laughter

Passion reduced
Barely a simmer
A future best seller
Lacking it's winner

By Darren Wall ©

I woke up early today
before the house itself
opens its crusty eyes.

Everything is still.
Everything
but me.
I couldn't sit in the quiet
So I went out to the deck
wanting to light a cigar.

I sit in the rocking chair
hunched over and begin to
type.
The urge to write a poem comes
but
there is a thorn on my side
that's keeping
the words hostage.
Is it the stillness
or the fact that
too much happened before bed.
There was one of those arguments
that made me question
more than the relationship
more of my own self
and so many other questions
that burned a hole straight through the sheets.

I still haven't wrapped my mind around it.
I was told to
just
let
it
go.
That I go looking for things in the mud.
Maybe that's where my mind is
left, to rot in the
swamp.
Where poems come to die
emotions die
relationships die
and butts from cigars are left
to sink.

As I descend I catch a glimpse
of what looks like
a cigar that still has
some drags left in it.

I extend my arm out for it.
The stagnant water is up to my neck
and the stench of death
fills my nostrils.
My feet sink
deeper with each
movement I make
trying my best
to make my way to
that precious
smoke.

Finally,
I get to it.
It's damp
but still smokeable.
Taking the plastic end of it
to my lips,
managing to
fumble a lighter out
and light it up.
The cherry burns ashy red
the last pulls of it are spicy
with nicotine which fill my lungs
I enjoy
it still.
Right
to the
very
end.

The plastic tip
has melted
from keeping it light
too long.
I kiss it goodbye
before I toss it
back into the swamp.
Right where I found it
and right
where
I'm leaving this poem.

I sit
Behind a blank screen
Thoughts
S     c a   tt e    r  e       d
Like dandelion seeds in the wind
A swirling mess of fluffy white
I can’t help but think they look beautiful
What a gift it would be to share this beauty!
But I can’t catch them
They s
            l
             i
              p
Right through my fingers
Laughing and dancing around me
While the white screen
And the blinking text cursor mock me…
Angry bees buzz in my mind,
Itchy and hot
    um
  j        p,
I             and swipe
Trying to grab anything, ANYTHING!
But I fail to fly with them
Harsh hands only chasing away the seeds
Like parting water

I stop
Hope d r a i n i n g out of my body
I’ve broken and spring a leak
Condemned to the ground
I can’t do this anymore

The sun sets
And the dusts settles
I sit among among the dandelions drifting down
Wait, what?
Oh…
I can finally hold them