Retreading the same creative subjects Rebedding headaches Pedalo Some discomfort Clung all over with a fungal dampness And moored with a heavy sleep-like coat Worthy of nothing Nothing worthy of note Pages
Consumed by rehearse I've lost the thirst to broadcast Cowardly in delay Relaying what's past ..... a Recurrent distress
I stand sudden : Done ! I derail the trolley-lot ...
Then I fit In a mirthquake I laugh like i am made of bellies 'The Bellycake', I'll call me.
With my serious anchorous state nulled I approach fresh work with good humour
The walls seem to fade in colour, the ones that held on to my valour. The rain breaks out wild, as my thoughts revile the dubious washed walls. Till then I seek refuge in the lost halls. While I count my marbles, to the evergreen warbles.
Creativity is grieved over. When it leaves, your nostalgia blossoms An old friend that you lost before its time You weep at its funeral Your tears burn your cheeks With desires of what could have been. Perhaps it died in a car accident A violent, fiery wreck of destruction Maybe it died in its sleep You never did get a chance to say goodbye Or you could have lost it in time Watched it wither away Like the memories you used to hold so dear. Crying yourself to sleep, you yearn for your creativity.
The beauty, or perhaps the horror of this death Lies in the fact that it could return. After bargaining with Death Death will return your creativity to you Like some undead zombie Or like the second coming of some benevolent angel. And you will welcome creativity with open arms You will hug it close, and promise that you will watch it closely. You will assure it that you won't let it slip through your grasp. You pick up that pen, stroke those keys And let your friend spill out all over the pages. But just as with people, the death of creativity is inevitable And before long, it will leave you bleeding yet again Only to return to you as though it never left.
No matter who you are or what you have been doing at some stage an obstacle appears without choosing. It may be a person, a thing or one of nature's forces that can just set you back on your forward courses. It could also be a sheer lack of available knowledge called ignorance, about what to do next or to manage that activity or certain thing you've been involved in where any progress forward seems unlikely and thin.
Somewhere in northern New Mexico a writer claims that the first two weeks after a long hiatus are the hardest. After all, scratching the words of the Gods on to a loose leaf paper must be arduous for those out of practice.