Parched, By Brian37 (AKA Brian James Rational Poet on FB/META and @Brianrrs37 on Twitter)

Though it be
The first month
Of the year

I write of nothing
I speak to no one
Truly a deaf ear

Muddied dried and cracked
Arid tongue went black
Inspiration I lack

Scorpions attack
Imagine diamondback
Poison my imagination

The frigid gloom
Winter looms
Shackles bones

Brittle cold
It cant be told
These thoughts withhold

These poems grow old
Never to be sold
Will ever be read?

I don’t want them dead
Parched is my head
As I lay in bed

I want to bleed
This shivering season
Into spring, shed this treason

Frostbite becomes fire
Once again, summer gives life
To my pen and then

I feel the ink flowing
Trickling, gushing, rushing
Breaking the doldrums

Writing more poems.

Another poem about how I am in a cold snap of inspiration and distraction poisoning my attempts, wanting to break out of this dry spell and get back to daily writing. Another metaphorical poem about writers block.

2 responses to “Parched”

  1. Considering you feel you have writer’s block right now, this is a really good poem, Brian. The title ‘Parched’ is perfect for the feelings of frustration you express. I know how annoying and frustrating it is to not be able to get your words out in print. I hate it when that happens, too. Nevertheless, this poem explains exactly what you feel/felt. I hope you are doing better today. I’ve just noticed you have published another poem today, so will go over to take a read this evening or tomorrow morning (I have a Zoom chat booked for this evening). Keep going, Brian.

    Liked by 1 person

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