A Writers Task

A writer's task is this
When things are amiss:
to clarify and define
a moment in time,
to grasp a fleeting thought
to learn the lesson that it taught,
to look beyond time and space,
to read the lines upon a face,
to make the imagination soar,
to renew those things which came before,
to delve into all that was, is, or ever shall be
to touch the core of reality.
The writer's pen his only tool
and life itself his only school

The Observer

A woman appears upon waves of sorrow an ocean of tear, the sea of tomorrow
The Observer, calm and alert casually aware of the woman's hurt.
A lost child crosses the desert sand forever seeking the touch of mother's hand
Upon a dune nearby sits the Observer with his unwavering eye.
A man screams out in frustrated pain at those who in his anger he has slain
though no one else hears his anguished sobs reach the Observer's ears
The youth with stars in her eyes gazes dreamily into cloudless skies
her imagination takes flight and passes before the Observer's sight.
All pieces, individual selves, a woman, a child, a man, a youth
The Observer, my soul, delves to discover all, a deeper truth.

Slow Insanity

An outsider trapped within
Stopped at the end and cannot begin
Lovelorn hearts full of hate
Announcements proclaiming a long ago date
Meandering at a hectic pace
Confined in a vast and lonely space
Screaming at the silence
Tranquilized violence
Falling fast as I float
Gotta cure this antidote
The world I cannot find
Replaced by death within my mind
Writer's Block

A poem?
Why certainly I'll write one for you.
In my time I've written quite a few.
But----my inner eye won't open;
and my outer eye sees nothing
but a sheet of paper, clean and white.
What is happening here?
Why can't I think of anything to write?
My muse has left me, deserted, adrift---
through my vocabulary I begin to sift.
A word here, a word there, a few that do not rhyme;
it'll all come back to me, I just have to give it time.
Oh the frustration! It shows in the gnawed pencil end.
Oh muse, return to me, my dear lost friend.
Surely I have something to say, something to relate,
but nothing comes to me, no matter how long I wait.
Hey, what is this I see? Could it possibly be?----
Yes, it is, a piece of poetry!
Not my best work, that is certainly true.
But the words are on paper and they will have to do.

~~~ More poetry ~~~ Web Station # 19 ~~~



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