inspiration is everywhere yet I have not been able to write. darn!
I do not know why this is. just the way it is.
I never leave the poetic communities and continue to read the musings of others. I just have not been able to gel pen and paper or shall I say laptop and key board. Writing a poem is like painting!
To me it is as if a well has dried up, oh there is water to quench my thirst the glimmers of light come shining through yet it's all stored away waiting I suppose to erupt like a volcano on any given day. Who knows? I sure don't.
I the mean time...
I will take notice of the evergreen, the oak tree and sparrows singing out side my window.
I will continue to take notes from the rumbling of my heart and oh yes! my heartaches. The thorns piercing my heart.
I will keep post it notes even virtual post it's when I notice the wild flowers growing in the concrete jungles. Buses, baby strollers and skate boarders yet the wild flower beauty peaks through tiny cracks of the side walks.
The day will come once again when un-summoned the words will flow like the beauty of blooming flowers in spring or as natural as browning of leaves in autumn.
Z in waiting