between jobs ...
i watched near-to-zero t.v.,
forgot to play the radio or cds,
never listened to holiday tunes
or hummed my way through the reindeer.
-decorated a far corner ... called it christmas.
holiday fuss complete ...
i cleared the fancy paper,
tore down the trim and lights,
read neruda and de sade,
never answered correspondence.
-piled things in a corner ... called it quits.
as the year ended ...
scrabble ruled the roost,
well-traveled, this word game,
followed us out for coffee,
poetry became a letter-tiled maze.
-my own words rested in corners ... called it quiet.
new year's eve,
we scared and embarrassed the kids,
dozed before midnight, after a dopey film,
nonplus over fireworks, no hell raised,
talked and loved, our drug to drowsiness.
-breathed deep, a corner room ... called it over ... 2002.
this newborn year ...
another job to begin, none too soon,
my hobby remained, being out of sorts,
as I spun my own wheels, produced no yarns,
poetry lost in the sheer lack of commotion.
-cornered, immobilized ... called now ... back to future.
... ever have an ample amount of "time off" and then proceed to get nearly nothing accomplished?!?!?!?!
Oh, I really like this, anne!! We all need some time of from "life", muses gather strength, building the pressure, you get restless, type your first line and then, you create, and give a part of yourself, again! That's one of the perks of being a writer, there is always more inside that will come out.
Erin
:)
Funny thing, it seems the holidays kinda push the muse to the back seat for a few weeks, have seen much of that this year, myself included.
The deep-dive literary meditations presented as stories, poems, and essays in The American Poet Who Went Home Again, A Mosaic of My Soul at Work, have captivated and inspired readers ever since its first paperback publication in 2008.
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Erin
:)
Funny thing, it seems the holidays kinda push the muse to the back seat for a few weeks, have seen much of that this year, myself included.