Silence. Stillness.
The blankness and slap of intimidation
dissolving now.
Why is this so hard? You encounter this daily.
And where are the Muses when you need them?
That immensely irritating plucking in the distance
buzzes around me
like a fly during my favorite meal.
It intercepts any hope of inspiration.
And so I’ve begun.
Interruptions erupt increasingly and continue still.
Meaningless mumbles mosey on
Through my ear and into my mind.
The snapping of beans, the creaking of chairs
And worst of all
The chill of the AC
caressing any exposed skin it can find.
Its icy finger tips ushering my goosebumps to rise.
And I’m almost there now.
A sudden change of scenery.
As a passenger, my scribbles become even less legible.
That plucking-now marvelous melodies.
They consume my brain and burst from me now.
Meaningless mumbles continue.
Nose picking, Dr. Pepper, giraffes
The only really difference is origin.
Scattered throughout my journey
illumination accompanied by a vibration.
They demand attention
igniting a thrilling rush that flows through me
and out through my fingertips.
And end. a sigh of relief, it’s all over now.
And end.
The poem takes the less glamorous parts of writing and makes them suspenseful. The tension builds up throughout the poem and releases at the end. The indented lines, repetition, and alliteration make the poem fun, even if it’s about a “boring” subject.