Post by Castle Court Jester on Oct 18, 2024 3:00:40 GMT -6
Writer's Block
Twin tornadoes, though fraternal
crept into my dreams last night.
It must have been the tension
of writer's block I had with my latest poem.
They were coming after me.
I had not delivered.
Wicked eyes and bloody smiles
as they destroyed this and destroyed that.
I yelled at them to “STOP!”
But they only cursed me in Chinese,
flinging me far, far away.
Crashing through the straw roof of a small hut
I was in the house of the cactus-man
and his maniacal laughter.
I told him about the tornadoes and about the “block”
as we writer's like to call it.
Cactus-man laughed and listened as best he could above his laughter,
eating beetles and night-crawlers which I enjoyed as well.
He laughed, worms hanging from his mouth, sucking them up like spaghetti
and held up his index finger saying, “One second.”
Coming back, he had a huge book.
I wondered how he carried it,
cacti arms and all.
But a poem was there on a blank page,
waiting to be written:
If I could
I would give you all that you desire.
I would conquer hell.
I would steal the fire
which I would then bring you
so that perhaps then you would see
the fire I have inside
when I think of thee
I would neuter Cerberus.
I would stand toe to toe with Death
if for one second that would mean
that I could kiss you, hold you feeling
your breath on my neck.
I am the dulled white knight
but I will valiantly protect you
if only for one second I could have the opportunity to.
Cactus-man then began morphing
in front of my eyes as it was written.
His face melted slowly,
revealing a black skull with razor teeth.
He leapt over the small table we were at
and sunk his teeth into my neck.
I screamed in agony.
A knife was a few feet away on some
sort of counter-like contraption.
Over and over I stabbed the hellish thing in the head
as it shrieked and shrieked.
The noise becoming my alarm clock.
I woke sitting upright in bed.
I had stabbed the mattress several times with a pen.
The mattress was actually bleeding.
This gave me the idea I needed for my next poem.
“The Mattress Bleeds.”
Nothing is right in my world
and sometimes I kind of like it that way.
--msl2024
Twin tornadoes, though fraternal
crept into my dreams last night.
It must have been the tension
of writer's block I had with my latest poem.
They were coming after me.
I had not delivered.
Wicked eyes and bloody smiles
as they destroyed this and destroyed that.
I yelled at them to “STOP!”
But they only cursed me in Chinese,
flinging me far, far away.
Crashing through the straw roof of a small hut
I was in the house of the cactus-man
and his maniacal laughter.
I told him about the tornadoes and about the “block”
as we writer's like to call it.
Cactus-man laughed and listened as best he could above his laughter,
eating beetles and night-crawlers which I enjoyed as well.
He laughed, worms hanging from his mouth, sucking them up like spaghetti
and held up his index finger saying, “One second.”
Coming back, he had a huge book.
I wondered how he carried it,
cacti arms and all.
But a poem was there on a blank page,
waiting to be written:
If I could
I would give you all that you desire.
I would conquer hell.
I would steal the fire
which I would then bring you
so that perhaps then you would see
the fire I have inside
when I think of thee
I would neuter Cerberus.
I would stand toe to toe with Death
if for one second that would mean
that I could kiss you, hold you feeling
your breath on my neck.
I am the dulled white knight
but I will valiantly protect you
if only for one second I could have the opportunity to.
Cactus-man then began morphing
in front of my eyes as it was written.
His face melted slowly,
revealing a black skull with razor teeth.
He leapt over the small table we were at
and sunk his teeth into my neck.
I screamed in agony.
A knife was a few feet away on some
sort of counter-like contraption.
Over and over I stabbed the hellish thing in the head
as it shrieked and shrieked.
The noise becoming my alarm clock.
I woke sitting upright in bed.
I had stabbed the mattress several times with a pen.
The mattress was actually bleeding.
This gave me the idea I needed for my next poem.
“The Mattress Bleeds.”
Nothing is right in my world
and sometimes I kind of like it that way.
--msl2024
