One tends to worry when it has been several weeks and still the words won't come. No amount of cajoling, coercing, or conniving will give them voice until they are good and ready to sing again.
Every attempt to write fell to the wayside. Hmm... It is an interesting word, "wayside," which means to "land immediately adjacent to a road" ... and not in that road where I actually had need of them.
Then, seemingly out of nowhere, came a refreshing congealing of ideas and words. Within an hour or so, a poem had coalesced out of my arabesque sea of thought ... and here it is ... long past due:
Every attempt to write fell to the wayside. Hmm... It is an interesting word, "wayside," which means to "land immediately adjacent to a road" ... and not in that road where I actually had need of them.
Then, seemingly out of nowhere, came a refreshing congealing of ideas and words. Within an hour or so, a poem had coalesced out of my arabesque sea of thought ... and here it is ... long past due:
Long Past Due
I pull the curtains back
From windows clear and wide
In earnest, hopeful stance
To search the open sky
For merest wisp of cloud
In arcing ever blue
Until I burst aloud,
”The rain is long past due!”
Where is that swollen scent
When sea birds fill the air
And moisture not yet spent
Is lurking everywhere
Why do they stay away
This season’s call defy
Oh how I miss those days
When all the sky would cry.
I pull the curtains back
From windows clear and wide
In earnest, hopeful stance
To search the open sky
For merest wisp of cloud
In arcing ever blue
Until I burst aloud,
”The rain is long past due!”
Where is that swollen scent
When sea birds fill the air
And moisture not yet spent
Is lurking everywhere
Why do they stay away
This season’s call defy
Oh how I miss those days
When all the sky would cry.
Image: www.linotype.com
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