On Writing
We poets have our favorites
when it comes to writing:
types of notebooks, pens,
places, sounds, beverages.
I’m sitting on a black-striped bench
in the far bright corner
of the new cupcakery in town,
just two blocks away
from my favorite coffee shop.
Sometimes we must
break the mold, escape
our ordinary
to let new thoughts,
ideas, and words
flow from our pens
to our notebooks
to our readers’ eyes,
brains, and minds.
I take out my beat-up notebook,
open it on the green glassed table top,
arrange my espresso and cupcake
to be within reach,
I put pen to paper
and compose my thoughts.
When Words Fail
I’m usually pretty quiet
until I really have something to say.
Sometimes I stutter and stammer
and search for the words
that are right on the tip of my tongue.
I am self-confident
when I know what needs to be said.
I’ll barrel through a speech
leaving you with no way
to say anything back to me
until I am done.
Words can still fail me,
fail us; language gets
in our way from time-to-time.
All we can ever do
is talk situations out,
make sure that we don’t leave
the most important
words unsaid.
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