If All I Had To Do Is Write

Oh well! If all I had to do is write, I’d have more blog followers by now! Lol!
I wrote this poem a year ago when I had to share my time between meeting a deadline for turning in a script and preparing for the final exams of an online writing course I took. Keeping my professionalism intact and hanging a great grade on that certificate was a period of high mental viscosity. The poem goes thus:

IF ALL I HAD TO DO IS WRITE by John Spurgeon

I wake early
To watch the sunrise
As is my custom

I stare at it
Still a red halo
Brightening my horizon

Basking in the promise
Of a clearer hue
My mind hypnotised thus

Suddenly, a distraction
An opaque abstraction
Obstructing the beauty of a new day

In the form of my alarm,
Next, my phone rang
I sigh; my soul almost sang

If all I had to do is write!

All reminders will stay off
As I set sail without my muse
Hoping it catches up

Abstractions all transparent
Like I used ink to pay rent
My focus on your locus
“Who are you, Mr. Idea?”

Curiosity kills the cat, they say
Like it’s not better explained
By the fusion in an illuminated mind
When my paper meets my pen

Still, why resort to murder?
If a cat could add some sense
To a thought once unreasonable
Truth juice is bitter, I spill it

If all I had to do is write!

Life is a female lecturer
Nagging at a backward student

Why won’t you pay
Closer attention, she say

To her charms
And the promise in her arms

She’s an empty box
Why wait to tick it

My eyes swim like a critic
hesitating to follow dotted lines

I’m just single-minded today
Selfishnesses clashing

If all I had to do is write

I’ll cook a poem
While I watch her sleep
I’ll be on it when she wakes

Stuck by the window as my eye stares
Give full vent to my imagination
Creative claws out of thin air

To grasp an attention more steadfast
The love of a writer for his reader
A telepathic art
for sale to the highest bidder

If all I had to do is write!

Eyes narrow at the thought
My mind up lifted

Through a peephole
Into my think tank

Gifted with the touch
To grab at higher branches

What is it?
What is it worth?

Like September winds
Weighed on a Libra scale
Heavy but found wanting

Still, enough to distort my thoughts
Like the patter of rain on the roof

My mind hunger for truth
Yet I lunch on burger patty and sauce

If all I had to do is write!

(c) 2015. CampFire Publishers. All Rights Reserved.

Follow on Twitter @JohnSpugeon

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