Tonight again you set out to write
But the page still yawns before you.
Nothing works and you can tell
That every mark you make is wrong.
But then somehow your lungs discern
Within the enveloping everyday air
A more vital new oxygen.
You inhale – it fills you.
Oh yes, you were born to be a vessel,
To cradle the sky itself within you
For one impossibly pregnant moment.
You can see its glow beneath your skin.
Your fingers begin to tingle,
Your heart quickens its cadence,
Your scalp tightens around your skull.
And now – the words come.
-~-~-~-~
Oh how I empathise with this. I know writing about writing poems is unfashionable, but I seem to do it all the time! I love your poem, which takes writers’ block to new heights!
The last line is powerful, coming at the end.
Your poem builds beautiful to a crescendo at tne end. It is such wonderful feeling when everything finally works together and a poem is born. Welcome to NaPoWriMo. Nice to meet you here! Here’s mine for NaPo 12:
http://inthecornerofmyeye.blogspot.com/2012/04/grief.html
Gorgeous. I love “for one impossibly pregnant moment.” Excellent expression of the craft. Congrats on your waking muse.
I think my comment must have disappeared. I made one, but don’t see it. So I will try again. I like the way this poem builds and ends with crescendo….the birth of a poem. I think many have been in this situation, working and working, and then suddenly it all comes together. Glad to meet you at WWP for NaPoWriMo!
I like the idea of the page yawning and being woken and brought to life by words. Very nice.