A Poet’s Lament

After running in place

for what seems like an age,

can’t I just lessen the pace

and scribble a word on this page?

Why must there always be work,

some urgently pressing demand,

a duty too vital to shirk

requiring my guiding hand?

Surely I will find some way

to invite my pen out to play

even if ending the day

I struggle for something to say!

In fact, it seems I’ve found time

to doodle this trivial rhyme.

The Reader’s Power

When I was younger,

Before the hiatus,

I filled journals for fun

With poetic musings.

I did that for me

And no other reason

But one day I stopped,

It went “out of season”.

Now that I’m older

I can’t help but wonder,

Would I have stopped 

Writing when younger,

If post-it notes penned

By some random strangers

Happened to appear

In handwritten journals?

Why Do the Write Thing?

He said it wasn’t time well spent
Putting pen to pad
When others, far more eloquent
Have expressed the thoughts he had?

“What is the point for me to write
With sloppy, clumsy, awkward word
When I could just quote Richard Wright
And sound much less absurd?”

“It’s not about the product, man!
That’s why you should bother!
Writing’s more about expression than
Trying to compete with Mary Oliver!”

“Pick up that pen and write away!
Scribble words in any fashion!
You have got a lot to say!
Get right on it! Express your passion!”