was to write each letter
perfectly, neatly, evenly
and to practice writing
As the alphabet progressed
we started writing words,
then poems and short stories.
We never questioned the meaning of words
until someone asked what “the” meant,
and if it was pronounced “thuh” or “thee”
our teacher could not explain to us the meaning of this
complicated word, or why it had two pronunciations,
or why either pronunciation really didn't change the meaning,
one was just for emphasis of one
and the other meant one... period.
Quite obvious from the above explanations
I became a writer
and ,today, I'm stuck
I've a bad case of writer's block
that no amount of cerebral ex-lax is going to cure.
An amalgamation of letters
sprawled out on blue lined paper
not so neat, not so perfect, no so even
but I know what words they form
even if they don't exactly make sense.
Random words written on multiple pages
rewritten, crossed out, stet
none of them make sense when put together
this isn't a stream of consciousness thing
because when the words stand alone,
the meaning is symbolically clear,
but outwardly awkward.
Should I just keep things the way they are?
is this poetry for poetry's sake?
or confusion for confusion's sake?
On second thought
I should create a new sketch in words.
Hours go by as I sit and tap my pen
butt first on the paper
making little indentations
I scribble a little something
I cross it out
I can't think of anything to write...
The irony of it all is when
I look down at my paper at the end of the day
To see what I have written
All that is there is...