#interruptions
so powerful
yet so quiet
silent
produces
passion
like no
other
different kind of
ecstasy,
a necessity;
pain
blind to its own
power,
blind to its own
strength
voice encased in fear
holds the ability to change
to
Nov 16, 2019
Nov 16, 2019 at 3:40 PM UTC
The question rings as a rattle on my cage.
"I am writing poetry" I answered.
He mumbled, "I thought you were playing Mahjong."
I exhaled hard, "I was. I won two games. " I said with a little aggravation.
"Hum..." he said, then all fell silent.
I did not respond.
Only the sound of my fingers typing on the keyboard continued
Until he could not stand it anymore, "There's news today. The USA is pulling out of Syria."
"Hum, that's good." I said.
He said, "I am sure the families of the soldiers that are coming home are happy."
"Yeah, they probably are." I said halfheartedly as I continued to write.
"Israel is still worried about their borders."
Sarcastically I replied, "Maybe they will build a wall."
The sounds of tap-tap-tap on the keyboard, continuing...
He said, "Yeah, maybe Trump will help them."
I stopped typing.
We laughed and I continued to write.
It was quiet for just a moment.
Then he said, "What'cha doing now?
We both laughed out loud!!!
And I finished this writing.
Dec 27, 2018
Dec 27, 2018 at 2:01 AM UTC
Writers Block
Silent, blank, empty mind.
Devoid of inspiration; a big waste of time.
For all I wish to do, is begin to write,
But all the words I cannot think of have eluded my mind.
So here I sit, in front of the computer screen,
Just waiting for a divine intervention,
Or maybe some divine inspiration;
But all I have on my mind is a woman named Divine Brown.
I’m supposed to be a writer, but I can’t even write;
I can’t think of anything, original tonight.
All I can think of is what other people have already said.
Maybe I shouldn’t be doing this, maybe I should just go to bed.
Come on brain think, of a single sentence.
Maybe that will lead me, to write the rest;
Or maybe I should, just take a rest,
But I have so many words I wish to get off my chest.
But where to begin? I’ll see what I’ve written so far;
Well I’ve written the title, I guess that’s a start
And I know what the plot is, but where do I begin?
With who? What? When? Or Where?
Why is it so hard to think?
Ok, so He’s here and they’ve just done that,
So all I have to think about, is what happens next.
Ok, yeah that’s good; I’ll just type it before I forget.
No, wait that’s not good enough, maybe a drink will help.
Now I’m on my third bottle of wine and I still cannot write.
I guess I’ll go back to bed and try again tomorrow.
But wait, here it is! My thoughts are all falling into line.
Yes! That sounds good. They can do that;
Damn! There goes my phone.
Now where was I, oh yeah, that’s right.
I had it just; come on what was I going to write?
If I sit here long enough, it’s bound to come back to me;
But I’m feeling so tired, I can no longer think.
I’ll try again in the morning;
I’m too tired to care anymore.
Maybe I shouldn’t be writing this book.
Maybe there’s something else that will be easier to do.
This whole writing thing is too hard;
I guess I’ll just do a job that requires no words.
(C)2011 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Apr 12, 2018
Apr 12, 2018 at 2:40 PM UTC
While Abraham was binding Isaac
to Mount Moriah he was interrupted by
a knock at the door.
"Who could this be?" he thought.
"We don't even own a door," he cried.
So he continued binding Isaac to the
altar. Again, a knock that could make
the deaf hear. Abraham had to stop
and look for the door.
He yelled, "Leave me alone, I'm doing
God's work!" and returned to continue
the akedah. And again a knock interrupted
him, and again, and again---Abraham
did not know what to do, whether to laugh
or to cry.
And then he thought: "This will be
the history of my children. When we will
be doing our work or God's work there will
always come a knock at the door to interrupt
us...whether we own a door or not." And
it came to pass that the history of the Jews
is a history of interruptions.
Sep 2, 2016
Sep 2, 2016 at 3:37 PM UTC
We arrive home
and I see you look over there.
I've been so happy
just spending time with you.
It's been just the two of us,
a welcome escape.
It's not often this happens,
when we get time alone
without interruption
from texts or a phone call.
But tonight we are free
and we have the most
mundanely grand plans.
And I look forward to them
with utmost glee.
But then it happens.
We pull in and you say
you're going there
"just for a minute."
I'm not fooled,
it's never just a minute.
Our plans are derailed,
I'm left to bring in the groceries
alone.
And do the dishes,
alone.
We said we'd tackle them
together,
tag-team the massive pile.
Yet here I am,
alone.
And I get left feeling like
a complete and utter *****
because I'm upset at the fact
that you want to go home
to tell your parents good night.
I just want this to be your home.
And I'm afraid
it never will be.
You'll always have to go there
and we'll always have some
sort of interruption.
And I'll never have you
all to myself, never,
and sometimes I'll be left
feeling completely *******
alone.
Nov 8, 2014
Nov 8, 2014 at 11:01 AM UTC