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    poetry


    dots Submission Name: The Days of Inspirationdots
    --------------------------------------------------------





    Author: ziska
    ASL Info:    34 / F / United Kingdom
    Elite Ratio:    7.56 - 131/114/38
    Words: 215
    Class/Type: Poetry/Serious
    Total Views: 491
    Average Vote:    No vote yet.
    Bytes: 1469



    Description:
       


    Make the font bigger!! Double Spacing Back to recent posts.

    dotsThe Days of Inspirationdots
    -------------------------------------------


    And so I find myself doing it again;
    Sitting upright in this padded leather chair,
    In this climate-controlled suite, elbows resting on a polished desk, the fading wood scent covered now by the rising steam of a half forgotten mocha latte.

    Thumbs resting on a spacebar worn smooth by fingerprints.

    Legs tucked under, propped up on a gilded chest filled with old, forgotten notebooks; bending my toes upward, stretching the stiffness from my calves.

    A dim light of encroaching day pushes against the drawn curtains, windless.

    And I, here in my corner, watch my reflection in the glass of a photograph, my features bathed in the LED glow of the monitor, ghostlike and imprinted over two people embracing.

    A giant face, waiting to devour them in their time-captured world.

    Focus, focus!

    The empty whiteness throbs, ebbs, whirls, pulses, breathes - yet remains silent.

    The cursor blinks hypnotically, eternally patient, the taunting metronome of a rhythmless brain, beckoning -

    Words appear and disappear and we never quite understand where it is they have gone.

    Sitting here sipping this coffee,
    Remembering coffee shops, sidewalks,

    Remembering -

    Graphite-smeared hands and poetry
    Scrawled on the backs of napkins
    Never seemed so difficult
    as this.




    Submitted on 2011-08-03 04:51:09     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
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    ||| Comments |||
      I so understand what you mean here, I'm always inspired its very rare that I get a writers block, but its those days when I want to write something... anything and can't seem to decide what I want to write.

    So many days I've sat in front of my computer, opening up microsoft word and staring at the white blank screen. Hoping something will come. I have alot of stuff I want to write about but I just like to daydream about them, when I do try to write them it doesn't come out the way I had been imagining it would.

    Inspiration is a very interesting icon. It's kinda like a storm that comes and goes. When it does come its a flood rushing into the mind and you can't grasp it all, you can't write it all because its just too much. Other times, its like a drizzle of rain, so light you barely see it or feel it but you know its there...

    lol just some thoughts this was wonderful to read.

    I like these lines-

    Focus, focus!

    The empty whiteness throbs, ebbs, whirls, pulses, breathes - yet remains silent.

    The cursor blinks hypnotically, eternally patient, the taunting metronome of a rhythmless brain, beckoning -

    Words appear and disappear and we never quite understand where it is they have gone.

    :)

    Althea~
    | Posted on 2011-08-03 00:00:00 | by AltheaLaochra | [ Reply to This ]
      nothing comes when we try to force it...or what does makes us immediately hit the delete key and stare blankly at what we are not doing...


    i find writing poems about writing the best therapy for writer's block...somehow that particular muse is always hanging around close by...how "the empty whiteness pulses"

    felt this poem many times in the past 40 years....a good one to wake up to this morning..
    thanks


    jacob
    | Posted on 2011-08-03 00:00:00 | by jacoberin | [ Reply to This ]
      I really like what you have here. We've all been there, sitting up at night, trying to write a piece, saying "this use to be so easy".

    The image that you provide at the beginning is so profound in it's realness; like I, myself, have been there before.

    Something to pull out:

    "my features bathed in the LED glow of the monitor, ghostlike and imprinted over two people embracing"

    Such a great image.

    "Sitting here drinking coffee, remembering coffee shops" hmmm interesting. It's almost to convey this similarity with the coffee in this piece with inspiration, if you know what I mean.
    Drining "inspiration" remembering the days that it use to flood through you.

    Anyways, I really liked the last stanza when you described how it use to be easy, or atleast not as hard. I pictured wild youth scratching words into any surface they could find; quickly and nonsensically, but quickly nonetheless.

    What I would like to see is some more comparisons of today versus the "days of inspiration". I think it could really set-up the ending a lot nicer. My personal opinion is take the coffee metaphor and run with it. Like, as fast as you can, it doesn't even have to make sense at first.

    But on a more serious note, a lack of inspiration can be a depressing thing for a writer, I know, but you got to press through and you did that with this piece.

    Don't let this become you poetic suicide note-

    -Matt
    | Posted on 2011-08-03 00:00:00 | by OneDarkFlame92 | [ Reply to This ]


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