Writer’s Block

Hands up, man up,
time to fight this thing at last
so stand up, can up
all your doubts and let’s get past.
Demanding from the planning board
the very things that I look for,
standing for the characters who
dwell within what I work towards.
Pages where my rage and insecurities are clarified,
a stage on which my cage is opened up and I look terrified.
I fear what I have had and lost
and even more what I’ve become,
I fear they’ll never know the cost
and to my words they’ll all be numb.
Lay low, stay close,
guerrilla warfare with a pen
won’t say no, pay close
attention ‘fore I strike again.
The lie I told, white as a ghost,
I hardly ever write with pens,
keyboards see more of my toasts,
to them I’ll raise a glass and then
I’ll tip it back, and tip it back a little further
I’ll type into the night and I will write until the words hurt.
In Valhalla I’ll see all of every line I drop and roll,
alas I’ll smash the glass I mentioned, first I’ll laugh while shouting, “Skol!”
Curved horns, served corn,
Odin is a gracious host
our shirts torn, serve more!
My appetite’s insatiable.
Words like nature’s weapons nurtured, sticks and stones in ample stock,
I’m sick of being slept on, tortured; time to own this writer’s block.
All I’ve got and all I have both all at once, the grammar’s there,
mock improper ways of speaking while still rhyming; that’s damn unfair.
Open up creative genes, like holes in knees, pay extra fees,
take a moment: please reread, like fashion trends and birds on tees;
hit a birdie off the tee, the thing is sturdy, dirty deeds;
eleven thirty? Time for tea. And when they’re early? Time to leave.
And when they hurt me? Time to seethe. And when they burn me?
Time to be. Rise like a phoenix, it’s time to flee. Fly like a phoenix,
it’s time to lead. I try just like Phoenix, and find time to read.
My tattoo sees us, it was time to bleed.
I still pray to Jesus in my times of need.
Can up, stand up
tell the world who you are
and man up, hands up,
one day words will take me far.

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