taking
a vacation with alliteration i write,
“yesterday
you yawned your yearnings yet you yielded yes”
then
watch the sun set on the inspiration of my mind
under
a full moon i croon:
“while
all the colors of the fall
has
everybody else enthralled
your
beauty has me mesmerized
and
all else is a compromise”
but
the clouds come causing the night to become contrary
spell
check tells me my line in alliteration contains verb confusion
and
i think, “welcome to the poetry of my mind”
to
get the rhythmic rhetoric roaring i recite an opening verse
to
a poem i coined back in the eighties,
“learn
to dance on dreary days that drizzle down defeat
wake
to wisdom of the word that weaves eternal beat
glow
the gift that gave you guidance from the guarded grave
take
the time to realign the rapture and the rave”
but
i remain creatively infertile
i
read a few pages from my “echo” manuscript
but
can’t connect with the writer who witnessed those words
confer
with the closed doors in the hallway of my inspiration
but
no one is home or willing to answer with an opening
i
feel bottled up
needing
to twist off the top or uncork
but
whatever is simmering beneath the surface
is
suffering in silence and won’t stop gnawing on my bones
waiting
for me to reach in my hand and pull it out of the pit
and
give it a home on the poetry of pages
the
war wages without being streamed live
the
passage ways are blocked surging with suffocation
for
all thoughts gasp for a permanent vacation
from
the entrails of my macabre
*
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