Writer’s Block

For a long time now I have struggled to write poetry. A while ago I expressed this, with some irony, in a poem! I publish it tonight only because I have written again tonight in memory of a church member who died this week.

I’m looking for words

but they have slipped inside the sofa,

hiding beside the remote

my hand touches one before the others.

the words remain abandoned

in the accumulated debris until they are


with purpose,

dragged neglected into the woven dust and fir

that swirls.

I have a dyson.

Confused, they are choked then binned.

I sinned, I discarded them

and did not let them sit beside each other on the page

where they would have had a meaning

not before prescribed for them.

Providence would have lured these words,

these letters so arranged

to a new home.

Instead they are crumbs that will not be gathered

except by the bin man.

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