What keeps you up at night?

26 Feb



Good God man, it just keeps coming!

Not getting a poem has me rolling around in a cold sweat, no kidding!

I’m up against the ropes, getting dizzy, banging away left and right, sweating like a boxer! Ok, an over-worked waiter. Ok, a diminutive Secretary, way in the corner, in big, bi-focal glasses.

No really, and I missed a post today by about fifteen minutes.

So. It’s that time…working up to the very limit…where I finally get to see if I can do it. What will I do if I can’t? Why is it suddenly so important? What have I set myself up for? Has it been worth it…IS it worth it…will it BE worth it?

Can’t lie, I’m having a blast actually – I just don’t know how long it will last.

All the advice you get can be a )*&@ in the (*&#$!

I’m gonna have to set up a WHOLE new system because by the time I get through visiting everyone (which I enjoy), I’ve completely zoned out.

So. Can I discipline myself to an hour a day? We shall see.

-visit my poetry blog – Tomatos, Oranges and Other Fruit

♦photo – &♦


Posted by on February 26, 2011 in postaday2011, Uncategorized



3 responses to “What keeps you up at night?

  1. humanitarikim

    February 26, 2011 at 02:30

    I work in front of my computer so I check in all throughout the day. That allows for many small WP sessions. I know I still spend entirely too much time on here. Or do I? I mean, if I get this much pleasure from it it’s not a bad thing, right?

    Anyway, I hope your poem writer’s block ends soon.

  2. kolembo

    February 26, 2011 at 02:47

    Hey there! I’m in bed on the phone. Really. I jst don’t know.

  3. Tilly Bud

    February 26, 2011 at 11:18

    The important thing is not to stress. difficult, I know; but not impossible. I have dry spells where I think I’m never going to write another poem again, and then suddenly the juices start flowing because of the most unexpected prompts. Prompts from life, I mean; not writing sites.

    If you’re not writing, get out there and do some living. Take a walk; visit a friend. Forget about the poems and they’ll come stalking you, desperate to be noticed.

    I promise.


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