Musings by The Poet Loriet
Blocking The Writer
Longingly, I hold the Snow White
notebook paper in my hands.
Like a new lover,
full of promise,
I gaze at the empty page,
in awe of the possibilities.
This could be my masterpiece,
could be...
but it remains
just out of reach
as phones ring,
kids fight, dog barks...
It's like desiring a first kiss
in the middle of
a crowded restaurant
as the waitress comes
to refill your coffee cup
and you find yourself
indecisive about
which flavor of the day
you should order
when all you really want
is one stolen moment--
but instead,
you find yourself
ordering Mocha Moonlight
with extra cream,
no sugar
and thanking Sue
for being so attentive
to your empty cup--
I remain sitting here,
lips puckered,
daydreaming,
waiting for blessed
inspiration
to strike.
Yet, all that glares back
is the sunlight reflecting
off the blue-lined
notebook-ruled
still empty
page.
Lori Beal
notebook paper in my hands.
Like a new lover,
full of promise,
I gaze at the empty page,
in awe of the possibilities.
This could be my masterpiece,
could be...
but it remains
just out of reach
as phones ring,
kids fight, dog barks...
It's like desiring a first kiss
in the middle of
a crowded restaurant
as the waitress comes
to refill your coffee cup
and you find yourself
indecisive about
which flavor of the day
you should order
when all you really want
is one stolen moment--
but instead,
you find yourself
ordering Mocha Moonlight
with extra cream,
no sugar
and thanking Sue
for being so attentive
to your empty cup--
I remain sitting here,
lips puckered,
daydreaming,
waiting for blessed
inspiration
to strike.
Yet, all that glares back
is the sunlight reflecting
off the blue-lined
notebook-ruled
still empty
page.
Lori Beal
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Blocking The Writer
Blocking The Writer
