Vanishing Art.

 

vanishing art

 

 

.  © -MFB III

 

somewhere in the eraser crumbs
of that big pink rectangle
that just mangled my poem
are tiny bits of inspiration
not yet ready to be flung
in No.#2 streaks of lead that
leak in a constipated way from
the Eberhard quill in my hand
my pencil has a lead ache
I'm afraid it produces
only pain and so I rub the spots
that hurt the most and wind up
drawing blanks like teeth pulled
from the voice of my soul
somewhere in the folds of my
brain deep in the electric synapses
ideas nap in sinful ways
too lazy to  be stirred by the urges
that drive me to write
"look to the sloth thou sluggards."
I flip through the dictionary
with nary a word that moves me
a thesaurus only gives me
more words that match the ones
that leave my arm stilled
I am a blank onion skin parchment
still a bit of a vegetable
still bringing tears to the soul
still a bitter write to swallow
I am a poet..part time
and a struggling artist
in bondage to my own limitations
chained to my quirks they weigh
me down like concrete blocks
in the flow of words
that sometimes seek to drown me
somewhere in the eraser crumbs
is a tiny seed of an idea
sown to soon and never fertilized
it will be swept away and forever
lost to the original intentions
between the teeth marks on my pencil
and the unfinished work before me
I am an indentured servant
to my unsatisfied muse.

More by this Author

  • Me As Leonardo Da Vinci !!
    4

    A script of shows I did at local schools. I managed to secure a mechanical bird that you wind up and it flies around the room. the Kids loved it

  • I Love You To The Moon And Back.
    2

    I'll Love You to The Moon And Back. ©-MFB III   The moon is a friend for the lonesome to talk to it moves the tides of passion and of tears, as well as the oceans. While all around lover's woo under...

  • Darkness Calls Me Out And Bids Me Go.
    4

      Darkness Calls Me Out.   Darkness calls me out, and bids me go into the humid, star-filled ink of night my slippers scritch- scraping cross the deck slapping time to the song of the crickets as moths...


Comments 2 comments

Art 4 Life profile image

Art 4 Life 6 years ago from in the middle of nowhere....

good poem...speaks of, what I could only describe as writer's block...or an artist that sees what he wants to paint, but cannot get his hands to cooperate...it spoke a million feelings, that we all as human beings feel from time to time...good hub...you truly are an artist...and have a great talent for exspressing human emotion and feeling...


thost profile image

thost 3 years ago from Dublin, Ireland

Nice poem that reminds me of the unfinished work of life. Thank you.

    Sign in or sign up and post using a HubPages Network account.

    0 of 8192 characters used
    Post Comment

    No HTML is allowed in comments, but URLs will be hyperlinked. Comments are not for promoting your articles or other sites.


    Click to Rate This Article
    working