Thoughts One Night of a Hungry Poet

[saw]

I ran my hand through my hair
a thousand times or so
hoping to shake loose a little competency
but the stimulation fell flat
a faceplant of inspiration that could not get up
lingering in the dark dark gray matter
that's viscous, and unforgiving....the words
would not come to help me
rather stuck in linguistic mud
not to be extricated tonight, And so
I dropped my ballpoint on the table
thought to myself, perhaps I am hungry
for more than a creative spark. maybe
I need real food, not the literary kind
I think I may need........ more calories

[judih]

in spite of lack of nutrition, a poem has been created.
(i always get hungry when i start to think about sitting down to work on writing. When I just write, no problem, but when i set up a block of time, then i need a banana, some cashews, and only then, will the sentence structure start to emerge)

[sasha]

Sometimes it's just like that. The words are in there, but refuse to come out, like a litter of puppies hiding under a porch that no amount of cajoling can induce to move. Just this morning I was idling the time with one of those online trivia quzzes. Among its questions was "Who was on the cover of the first ever Playboy magazine?" I had no idea - but it got me trying to remember the name of their 1st centerfold, which at one time I did. Her name was on the tip of my tongue - but I couldn't coax it out of hiding! Vague impressions & associations bubbled up, distant reverberations & echoes, that trying to recall the name only chased away - so I consciously tried NOT thinking of it. Poured another cup of coffee, washed the dishes, made the bed, took a shower; and it finally came to me: Janet Pilgrim. That's why I keep a copy of Roget's nearby - not to find some flashy new word to describe something, but to remind me of a serviceable word I already know.

(I had to wait for the answer to the Playboy question. Their 1st cover girl was Marilyn Monroe.)

[judih]

playboy as a sign of the time and how words and images shuffle around till they converge in an available format.

sasha, the puppy metaphor is fabulous.
i'm thinking of the hind end of a small grey mouse that flitted out of view as i entered my puppet shack. Apparently the thing saw fit to move in, but why? no water, no real food - just foam rubber, fabrics, wool. Geckoes I can handle, huge wasps, okay, but a mouse, yuck.
And so, my puppetry time is tainted and i'm forced to deal with words.
Pass me a pistachio.

[sasha]

[saw]

wonderful comments...thx...............