Muse Vs Procrastination

Sitting at the desk, a little distressed, yet ready to write
Word document open, ideas marinating, stomach twisted tight
Marker blinking, page blank, words stirring, muse out of sight

Procrastination taunted, screamed, “You’re a have-not”
Muse vanished, disappeared, reward sought
Attention distracted, unfocused, no story, no plot

Fingers stagnated, slumped on keyboard
Stir-crazed, minutes to hours, idleness abhorred
Mind blank, ego at stake, nothing to record

Muse located, battered and bruised
Roped, kidnapped, verbally abused
Writhing, held hostage, ransom refused

Monitor plinking, eyes strained
Thoughts rotting, head pained
Perseverance crippled, self-doubt reigned

Sharp axe hung overhead, procrastination’s arms locked
Muse shell-shocked, head on writer’s block
Determination interrupted, suggested reprieve, maliciouly mocked

Head in hands, browbeaten, skills unmatched
Computer clicked off, defeated, confidence snatched
Walked away, battle another day, a definite rematch

Life without love

Sorrowful eyes dried aching
Heart writhing, twisting, shaking
Marrow frozen, bones breaking

Stomach contorts into hangman’s knots
Blood trickles sluggish, clogged by icy clots
Breaths stifled, lungs weak, tissue rots

Falling to the ground, clutching chest, no will to fight
Confusion abounds, walls closing in, blinded by light
Body siezing, heart imploded, dead at midnight

A few hours of sleep...

Down the hall, the 20th century grandfather clock brings in the midnight hour. Twelve solemn tolls echo into the soundless bedroom. The bells stir our wrinkled-face bulldog awake.

Scary lifts his fat head, looking for intruders. Tree branches screech across the bedroom windows. He whimpers. The wind howls as it passes through the nooks and crannies of our brick loft. Scary’s trembling. Shadows dance on the walls. He's had enough and dives under the sheets. I’m unfazed by the storm, but amused by Scary’s butt shaking underneath the blankets.

My amusement is short-lived. I’m restless again. I can’t shake the demons of my past. I stare at the ceiling fan blades swishing in a clockwise motion and wonder if I will ever be forgiven for my wrong doings, if all my debts are clear, if my enemies still crave vengeance.

Scary’s cold nose quivers wet on my leg. I flinch him off me, but he scouts closer. She moans. I stay motionless. I don't want to wake her. The moon light accentuates her curves under the sheets.

The air hangs stale, sticky. My throat’s dry and coarse. She rolls towards me. I cough. I push the blankets off my upper body. I’m hot. She lays her arm across my chest and squeezes me tightly. She whispers something inaudible.

Our breaths become synchronized without effort. She presses her nakedness into mine. Her close comforts soothe my anxieties. My thoughts lull into quietness. I feel my jaw relax. The racing of my heart slows. No running. No death. No betrayal. I close my eyes.

The alarm blares at 7a.m.

“Baby,” she whispers. “Ten more minutes”

“I got you,” I hit the snooze button.

I rub the blurriness from my eyes. I wrap her in my arms. I pull her close to me. She nuzzles her head into my neck. "I love you," I murmur while I run my fingers down her back.

The snooze warning goes off. I hit the silence button and stretch out. I sit up in bed as Scary falls to the floor. I rush to his aid. He licks my face. I wipe my face off on the blankets and hush his excitement.

I grab my pajama bottoms off the floor and pull them over my boxers. “Go get your leash, Scary.” I point to the corner of the bedroom door.

"What are you doing,” She says with her head face buried in pillows. “Come back to me.”

“I’ll be back in a minute.” I kiss on her ear and smack her softly on the backside. I never met a woman who had such sex appeal. Her body is flawless, well toned, and curvaceous. I take the leash out of Scary’s mouth, clip it onto his collar, and we head for the dog trail behind the loft’s.

To be continued….

rambling...

style of love obsolete... tears dried scarring... second guessing… alone in sadness... regret consumes… heart suspended in agony… defiance supreme… concentration enigmatic… legs wobble heady in melancholy… directionless abounds… finite collision clear… emotion crackles cold.... craves apathy’s bitter taste… breaths hollowed... paranoia spreads… black ice illusions dreaded… change mirrors ineptitude… collapse, defeated...

Fixed in Motion...

Wandering inner city streets note book in hand
Cerebral juices shaken not stirred top shelf brand
Fist raised high banishing injustice to no-man's-land

Entranced by graffiti of revolt emblazoned on building walls
Spray painted portraits of street disciples captivates, enthralls
Inflamed, incensed, sharpening pencils with retributive gall

Standing, catching a breath, at potholed crossroads
Traffic gawks at magnificent hands as creativity explodes
Pedestrians trade snarls and jeers--backfire, choke, implode

Thoughts dance rhythmically to ghetto proverbs
Blank pages imbued with rebel words inspired by earthy herbs
Head bobbing, eyes heavy, chilling on mind-freeing curbs

To be continued...