Sunday, 11 April 2010


The writer in me sits still
And teases as I fish and fidget
As I feel the discomfort
The scratching yawning chasm
Where my words once filled my heart
And flowed onto pages
Making real
My life internal

Even this, empty,
turned on resolutely
By my word holding muse
I turn to pages
Of other's nets
To soak in how the winds
Have been caught
And wrought
By others.

Response to Vicarious this weeks OSI prompt


Beth P. said...

Vicarious pleasure--it gets a bad rap, yes?!

Hope you are well, love--

gautami tripathy said...

Every writer relates to this...

ode to insomnia

Also don't forget to post your creative works at Monday Poetry Train Revisited on Monday mornings

SOL said...

I love this poem about the creative process.

Dances With Loons said...

Unique take on the prompt, enjoyed reading this!

SisterJulia said...

Thankyou Guatami, Sol and Dances with wolves!

And yes Beth, doesn't it a world where it seems to be such a huge proportion of how we live!

Mojo said...

That muse can be a b*t*h sometimes can't she?

Tumblewords: said...

A wonderful look at writerly lives!

SisterJulia said...

Yep! sure can Mojo!
Thank you Tumblewords