I've got a brand new book
With lots of empty pages,
I've got an old well used head
Full of stuff that's not been said
I've had days and days of time,
Unsorted lines that end with rhymes,
Scrumpled up memories in a mind
And I have asked why?
Why not get on with it?
Shuffle up some verses,
Move the brain cells about a bit,
Fire up the old creative furnace,
See what smoke emerges?
Instead, I've looked out the window
At a couple more weeks passing by.
Days have become evenings, diminuendo.
Something will happen, sometime
I've thought, if I give it time.
The brand new book is coffee stained
I noticed as I talked to my Brother.
He has a lyric needs fixing he says,
Writing a song about our mother.
We passed a pleasant hour.
Afterwards I am writing this
As a Keep Note on my phone,
A bit later and I will transcribe it
As the first in my new notebook of poems.
And then I'll keep on going.
I'll fix the lyric and words will flow,
I'll reconnect with what I know.
Lines & rhymes will crackle and crescendo
And out of the furnace smoke will blow.
My Brother knew - Just so.
My Brother has an instinct about me I don't have