A day in the life of a writer.
A POEM IS ANNOUNCED
The Muse knocked at the door
Pressed hard on the doorbell
And the author, that artist, she heard it well
But the call went unanswered.
Loud though the chime of time
The fast gathering moments
The pressure of the hours
Mounted with no result,
She wouldn't write.
The neighbors knew of her secret
Her friends well aware
Of her badly concealed desires
That unshakable itch to produce
The best verse she'd ever written.
At home, The Declaration from three days ago
(Of creating mighty miracles in print)
Hadn't stopped dancing in the living room
Breaking off now and then to follow her up the stairs
Shadowing her happily into her cozy writing nook,
All to no avail, she wouldn't write.
Resisting the urge, she straightened the pillows
That didn't need straightening, then
Wrote the grocery list for a pantry
Already groaning with food,
Overfed the goldfish,
Over-exercised the dog,
Exhausted the cat with her pacing
And The Man as well.
When she would tap those words into life,
The Greatest Verse of All Time,
Remained a secret.
Her procrastination was a thing of beauty,
And a misery forever.
She prayed for the flu,
Like all writers do
She rejoiced in a snow day
Bundled in a blanket,
She pressed a pillow to her head
Blocked out the shrieks of the Muse.
Then came dinnertime
Where she served the food
That she needn't have cooked
Crumbling the bread between her fingers
A sudden, strange resolution formed within
It's Now or Never
And Never is now a scary thing.
Ignoring the dishes, she went upstairs
Stepped into her writing nook
Adjusted the cushion so she and the Muse
Could sit with ease, side by side,
So that's where our tale ends,
With her on the chair
And the Muse calling for coffee.
Looking over her shoulder
Is that shining hope
Of powerful verse streaming forth
Of lines flowing with beauty
And words remembered forever.