Writer's Block

Writer’s Block

You hear the grasshopper strike

a full box of matches

igniting the grass with song

your mind is like the library,

silent

so full of resources

so hard to find.

Outside, the wind whistles through

two yawning bullet holes that

sit in the owl’s gyrating head.

Bitten slithers of white

drop from your mouth

in a frustrated feast

scratching the surface.

The fridge hums

food for thought

but the humming bird

of inspiration

is in torpor.

The prodding hands of the clock

jab each rib of ability

as it tuts disapprovingly

like the headmistress

over your shoulder.

Dark and unreachable

shadows of agile antelopes attain

the white stretch of land before you

and have gone before you can

place a dart in their hearts

and mark the page with their ink.

The tap drips every

1, 2, 3 seconds

as all thoughts seep

Into the drain.

The red buzz of standby

alert

but nothing to show

waiting for a finger

to send a spark.

Creativity lodged

in the doorway

of success

waits for its release.