Block.

 

 

Block.

The clock-face of midnight, assaulted
and strangled by block
is looking askance at my inky fingers
when witching hour stops.

 

Labour's oil long burnt out leaves me 
still making verse
while shaping new notions so Calliope
I bid you have mercy.

  

My mind may finally yield to sleep for
words dunked in rhyme
strung on short lines flicker as caution
re-views one more time.

 

Soon now and dawn will be brushing
my window to see
me yearning for rest when todayness
stirs and tries to shake me.

Reviews

[jacob erin-cilberto]

this let the dam break loose...writing about writer's block seems the best remedy for it.
i really like "todayness" as it reminds me of one of my favorites...e.e. cummings...
we are yearning for rest after a late night with the muse....but there is such a good feeling along with the tiredness....
Calliope...oh that muse...she comes in her own time and on her own terms.
j.

[Fay Slimm]

Such a quick and friendly review and thanking you jacob for finding the hidden frustration when words fly in heaps of unwanted repeats while sleep pays homage to Muse........... rightly she appears and goes in her own time my friend.