Bereft of Words

Sometimes we are

cleft from our God given

scripted voice and left bereft

of all the

inspired rations

that bring us

inspirations. those

thoughts that fill us with

beauty in our souls.

we become Anorexic

and unable

to serve our

alphabet soup

to the hungry masses

who wait eager to savor

what we have ladled out

simmering in hot ink.

~

Poetry has

a blank side

one only need turn

over the white sheet

on which a

poem is born

to find the emptiness

just beneath

words spent. ~

poetry has a dark side

when one's own

life is emptied

of creative impulses

their minds endlessly

turming over

useless ideas.

~

A lack of love

leaves no joy

to pen words about

what was an

incredible world

that was reduced

from two to one

leaving the process

of formulating

thought undone.

~

Yes, one can write

dirges on loneliness

but there is

lttle satisfaction

in the documentation

of what left one

sick at heart.

~

Poetry cannot

be forced

when one's soul

holds no desire

where there is no fire

no editors deadlines

can smash a

writers block

into word legos

for your mind

to build topics with.

No amount of money

promised or pressure

applied can create

words that are

worthy of any royalty

when one's muse

has become a pauper. ~

Poetry is not manufactered

on an assembly

line in one's brain

It flows to you

and through you

when just one

word sparks

an idea or a

scene of beauty

moves you to capture it.

There are so many triggers

for inspiration

all around us

but there are also times

when we are

just firing blanks.

Pencils get leadaches

pens become prisons

for our soul,

hearts lose the -arts

and leave one

destitute of poetic grace.

But time, beauty,

new loves and faith

wait in the shadows

of a dark mind and

soon all that was soiled

becomes fertile again

where Seeds

of promise

can be planted

deeply and regrow

until the poet

flees dormancy

and can do nothing

else but invite

words back.

~

Then they will

wrap tendrils

of hope through

fallow flesh

and souls

and turn

potter's fields

into pastures of

forget-me-nots.

~

When I am

without words

I turn to other

blank offerings

like a canvas

to be pigmented

or a lump of clay

to be made alive

Or I lift my guitar

and create music

that will patiently

wait for lyrics

~

And if I am

without love

I travel back

to other loves

that spawned

great poetry

and bask in

their warm embrace.

until eventually

new love

slips quietly

into my busy life

bearing words

whispered gently

into hungry ears

taking communion

in the comfort of two

and again the

paper beckons

for the caress

of my thoughts.

~

My blissful soul

bids my pen

to bleed

healing ink

I reread what

I have crafted

and it reveals

my former brilliance

when what

I had failed at

has vanished.

There is never

much money

in this field of poetry

One can take

some time off

Poetry is written

for the love of words

and for the s heer delight

of piecing together

something that

moves others

to think in a

like manner.

it is meant to

stir others emotions

into a feast

for their minds

but it is also

meant to whip

beliefs that have

been skewed

into truth for souls

who have strayed. ~

Then when all of

the tidbits of thought

are blended with

the ingredients needed

readers can have

a sample of what

holds all of the

flavors of life

and be left

begging for more.

~

This is the recipe

for success

one must not skip

or skimp on what

is prepared

lest your readers

go away hungry.

so rest when your mind

grows weary

or is uninspired

and then come back

to the grand re-creation

of words regenerated

and simply write on,

always right on

and righteously.