A poem about writers block and ice-cream
I want my thoughts to soar
But they remain firmly grounded
Preppy little thoughts
Half formed and unrounded
They say nothing
Not of value anyway
My best ideas deserted me
Gone off on holiday
Yet I have to publish
As if there’s something I have to say
I try to focus on the grammar
But the commas want to play
They’re taunting me,
A game of musical chairs
They move around the sentence
As if no one really cares
They say write until the words come
But the words are in a taxi
Going around the block
Laughing at the window
They know that I am stuck
I can see their little faces
Shouting scorn at me
They’ll regret it later
I’ll put them in a spelling bee
What happened to my sentences
Where did the grammar go
Why are my words in a car
Bellowing No! No! No!
I don’t have an answer
My thoughts are not my friend
Thank goodness there is ice cream
Ate a whole tub of it – in the end
A Tuesday Latte 