This hanging pause between ideas
Feels like a honour
My mind is empty
Of all higher thoughts
And deep feelings
Mundanity of life has deterred
Esoteric wandering
A hollow in residence
Oddly, a gift
I often ponder
the space between…
…Anything, really
People
Ideas
Places
Words
Growth
Transformation, by far, is
The most interesting part
In a dance
Transitions define ingenuity
Wild thrashing, wrist flicking
Bob Fosse style
Kicking ideas and throwing hooks
Dented tin cans house
Vibrant glass beads, rattling
We can only hope
They spill out
A few at a time
Waiting to be held up
To the light
I see the battered vessel
Off to the left of my foot
Curiosity urges me to tap it
But first, there’s chores to do
Laughing is part of this
Does writer’s block
Make me
Some semblance of a writer?
About the Creator
Aspen Marie
In love with life and all of its foibles.
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Comments (3)
I grinned my way through this. Even your writer’s block throws a mean jazz hand.
The block will pass; eventually all the ideas will pile up and break though the wall! But I loved the way you described everything—that space between it all. Beautiful. And that picture... 😂 I saw yours and Dharr's comments, so I already know, lol. But it's a nice mug.
Only a writer can have writer's block, so there's that hehehe. Also, help, I can't unsee it. The protruding things from your mug looks like nipples and the foam seems like boobs 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣