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The unthinkable has occurred, Ive woke up not wanting to post a word. It's not writer's block, I've plenty to say, I just cant be bothered to write today.
The desk sits there in the room Untouched Bits of cardboard and plastic surround the desk from when it was unwrapped The writer enters the room This makes the seventh time in the past hour The...
Is it too late. Have I been forgotten. In a month's time After all I had gotten. Am I not remembered. Does no one care. Have I lost my touch. Am I just no longer there.
I'm sat in my car, staring out onto the beautiful sculpted sunny horizon of Oxford. I found a farmers field to park in, nothing but fresh air and green fields.
You'll often find us deep in thought, Lost in wonder, more often that not. Buried in a book, sitting by the side, Or talking to ourselves, we don't have much pride.
All my little poems, displaying on the net. They hang with grace in cyberspace and sometimes I do get. A lovely bit of feedback, a comment or a like.
Cup of cold coffee,. Spilt on the floor,. 2010's calendar,. Taped to the door,. Sheets of scrap paper,. All cover the table,. Damp, yellow post-it notes,. Double as labels,. Boxes of ready meals,.
I'm off on a new adventure,. So please forgive me if I miss. Your marvellous poetry ventures,. Or wordy tales of pain and love,. And mysterious tales from above,. You must be sick of my talk of poo,.
"I am a writer," I told myself. And people actually believe.
And I am a bit frightened. It's my first time here and English is not my first language and it is un-betaed. Scarry stuff. What if nobody's reading my things. That would be really borring. Anyway.
I know it's time to sleep. My body is tired and broken. My eyes want to close and rest. My brain, quite literally, has other ideas.
Below is how I've written mine. It's still work in progress and I welcome feedback.