Posted in original

Inked

I bathe in black liquid, my head was fully soaked
my body was stiff — rigid, as the grip was held tight
the paper, solid white and blank, is now
littered with graffiti of handwriting
strokes, curves, dots – separated by spaces in between
what was thought of is now being written
 
I dive into that ooze of black liquid
as once again, another line, another word
needs to be written
smoothly I glide over the paper
as the writer does his job
writing in solid long-hand — beautifully written
 
I go into that bottle with the black liquid
once, twice…I lost count
yet I can’t complain as
the mark I leave behind, is as beautiful as a summer’s day
Posted in miscellaneous, original

For The Love of Writing

The curse of writing is that you never come up

with anything good when you want to

A spur of the moment is ended with

a blank page

A writer’s block, you flip the coin

but no matter which side you end up with

the paper is still bare

You have an idea….and it escapes you

it is lost for good

The curse of writing is you want to write

but words don’t come at all

You are cornered into a space so tight

you can hardly breath

not knowing if your breathing air

It’s hard to come by

yet easy to lose

lost in the background

Get a paper and a pen and start all

over again

knock on your noggin for the hopes of getting

a good word or sentence or phrase

To entertain, to fascinate or bring laughter

OH! the curse of writing

Alas! my page is still blank