Me and Bobby Magoo

I feel as if I've gone blind, can't find any of the words I need to express the way I'm feeling right now. Or perhaps I'm seeing things too clearly? Hmmm.

Maybe freedom's just another word for nothing left to say.

Waiting For the Sun

This Could Be The Last Line

How do we know what our last words might be? When will I put my pen to rest, unplug the keyboard and call it quits? There are still rejection letters due to arrive….or perhaps not. Still. When does it become a chore and not a need? And do I have a say in what my last words might be? If so I’d want them to simply be this: I gave it my best.

Things I Didn't Say Today

It's been longer than days now, more like weeks, since I have put any words down that make any sense, that might be turned into a meaningful poem or grow up to be a short story. There's been to time to even edit the words napping in my notebooks. I'm hoping they haven't fallen into hibernation mode; sometimes it's too hard to wake them up again. If I don't keep nudging them, they'll act as if they are lazy teenagers, rebelling against my good intentions to dress them up and bring them out in public. It not as if I've nothing to say. That's rarely the case. I just can't seem to find my way to stay put at this desk. Responsibilities tug me away and are such an elevated level, my playing with words seems not to be the best use of my hours....at least in the eyes of others.

So, there are things I'm not saying today. Or tomorrow. Or possibly even next week.