Hunting for Creativity

Today I wanted to be creative.

I wanted the words to flow

Four am wake ups from rogue ideas

And conceded scribbles to bribe back sleep.


I needed the clatter of keyboards

Rattling my mind for the last drops

Waiting for the final thunk of gold

The smudges of ink that pulled a chapter whole.


Instead I got the crumpled paper

Of half hearted attempts to write.

Jottings, notes and contradicting plots

Which spin webs of confusion in my mind.


Works that once seemed good

Fractured beneath my own acid gaze.


I’m supposed to be a writer

Why can I not pin you down?

Where’s my sledge hammer for this block?

How do you bury my words so far beneath ground?


Why are you here?
Not that I’m sad you came!
If you’re here…
Then you’re not there.
Am I making any sense?

I lived my life.
And I lived it well.
Those stories…
All the adventures!
The anecdotes I could tell!

But you wouldn’t hear.
My mouth is dumb.
My tongue stuck,
Incapable of words.
Just my luck.

Yet still you stand.
Those fingers that I know,
Yet still gentle…
As they once were,
When you first held my hand.

But you should leave.
Even if I’m sorry that you go.
If you’re here…
You’re not there!
It seems mad I know.

But when you’re there,
Then so am I!
Meeting new people,
Exploring soil not trod,
Unknown around the bend!

See did I not tell you?
I’m sure that I did?
I never truly lived life.
Was hiding in the dark.
Until I felt your kiss!

So go and tell new people,
All about your wife,
She met you one afternoon,
Down some dusty lane
And found fresh life.

Please don’t stop living
Just because I’m gone.
You see
I’m still hanging in here
Not yet quite ready,
Prepared to move on.

Then when its time
For you to bid farewell.
I’ll meet you halfway.
We’ll take the trip together
And speak of how we lived life,
How we lived it well.
And all those things I forgot?
We’ll have forever to tell.