How many poems have I writ?
And how easy has the process been?
To think and to conjure from my brain
Unto the printed page,
Ideas and concepts flowing
in a seamless joyous
Tide of vocabulary and
Profusion
Until a while ago.
When everything.
Just.
Stopped.
So what is it?
What is this ******* thing
That circumvents my joy
And my creativity?
Where is it skulking?
Coward! Come forth,
Be fought!
But it would not
Did not
And I did not write,
My pen was silent
But not my creativity,
Until I met some strangers
Who became immediate
Fast friends and true,
I opened up
And ideas flew,
Turns out
The block was that no one actually
Asked me to write,
No one and especially not me!
Well these new friends did,
And the blockage,
In that instant,
Died
And went
And so this verse,
Poor though it be,
And first in quite a while,
Has indeed
Snuck out
Under
The wire
While on a ILM7 coaching course I re-found my voice. Thank you Bill
