I Got Nothin’

My muse tapped his finger against
the table, and went about fiddling
with his phone, dialing out in
search of a more active scene

while I hawked at the horizon,
gazing hopefully, straining my
neck in hopes to see a trail of dust
a cloud of smoke, something but
all there seemed to be was a
hot stale wind and a single lost
lazy tumble weed.

and, when my muse juked my gaze as he
snagged his jacket, I finally gave
into this applicable, dry rhyme
settling instead of obsessing and
deciding to go on about my life.

Damned words-

They’ll show up to the party when
they’re good and ready,
I suppose.

__________________________________________________________

Welcome to the weekend, folks. Even though it was short one for most of us, it was far too long for my liking and, finally, the weekend’s come ridding in like the Calvary to save those of us who just felt like they couldn’t go another step. As you might have noticed from the post, my mind still seems to be adjourning on whether or not to keep working, so you get another post themed as such. Hopefully the decision will be made sometime this weekend, and I can get some more productive and livelier poems out! Β Either way, I hope your weekend is awesome and you drink yourself straight into the dawn!

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9 responses

  1. Awesome poem. I really enjoyed reading and felt your emotions behind your words. Keep up the great work and best of luck with everything πŸ™‚

    1. Thanks a million and I’m glad you enjoyed this one! πŸ™‚

      1. You’re welcome. If you ever want to read some funny and inspirational stories, you are more than welcome to come by my blog and have a Cup of Joe πŸ™‚

  2. Drink coffee. In a cafe. All the best poems come after a good cup of coffee in the cafe. Or alcohol. On a beach.

    1. You know, I’ve tried that before and I usually just end up people watching more than thinking/ writing . I get some of my best work on hikes but thanks to the terrible weather here, I’ve been stuck in doors for about two weeks now!

  3. I love this. There is something so magical about poems about writing, maybe its just that only poets can really express that ache that comes from the hate love relationship with the Muse

    1. With a stress on the ‘hate’ part currently πŸ˜‰ Thanks for reading and I’m glad you enjoyed it!

  4. Best post about nothing I ever read πŸ™‚

    1. lol Why, thank you πŸ˜€

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