Writers Block

It happened.  I hoped it wouldn’t, it was inevitable, after posting 53 original poems 3 were written before I set this challenge for myself.

Recently a few people who have visited my blog, I believe they are impressed with some of the poems,  The general concern is how can I keep it up?  I am confident I can upload 1 poem a day.  I have a backlog of over 100 poems which means I am confident, I  will be able to post a poem a day for  the next 310 days.  so watch this space

I have been fortunate whereby every day by about 12pm i have written at least one poem.  Today well, was a very relaxing day, I had a day off and although a few lines came to me nothing that sounded like a complete poem.  

I know when something is going to develop into a poem.  Like my first poem which I planned to perform at Armaghetto at the Fridge back there in January 1999.  

I remember whenever I got in my car, which was significant to the person  who I had allowed to break my heart.  Whenever I got behind the wheel lines, stanses phrases just kept coming to me.  after a few weeks I suddenly I decided to write it down as it was almost like being haunted, once I put it to paper it felt like an exorcism.  That and the car got stolen 6 months on, which defintely prevented me pondering, reminiscing of this particular person.  Now there’s a reason not to go out with your MECHANIC!

The poem I posted today on FB 27/03/13

#54 This Will Have to do

I need to write a poem

I don't know where to start

Do I write something fictional?

Or maybe something from the heart

I look around for inspiration

Nothing can I find

I look over the breakfast table

Still can't find a rhyme

Unfortunately I don't have a Muse

He looks at me blankly

Now I've made him confused

I cut him off in mid sentence

Something is coming through

I can write these thoughts down

This poem will have to do!

Late!!!

Tick tock, the sound of a clock, why do we have a problem with time keeping.  We have endless devices displaying the time, we have even more gadgets designed to save us time, particularly in the morning.  yet we have the audacity to turn up late.

Once you have arrived somewhere late, you are telling that person or organisation, I really don’t care about you and your rules.

Being late is rude and arrogant, you are basically saying ‘Wait for me’ Whatever I am doing is more important than being on time.

Some people speak of different time zones, they make references to JMT Jamaican Mean Time, AFT African Meantime oh yes lets not forget Black Man’s Time.  Sorry to tell everywhere your time is defined by the area you reside in not by your cultural background.  If we really were going by Jamaican Time, we could expect people to turn up 5 hours lat.

I have been late sometime, it often starts from the night before, where I haven’t got to bed on time, wake up feeling tiered, (I hit snooze a few times ) wake up 25 minutes later then I am scheduled to do and of course I am running late and I spend the day trying to make up the time.  I am sad to say it is not possible to gain the loss time!

#43 Late Again

Late for work again

Nothing other than death

Is a suitable excuse

Whatever you say is just a ruse

When it comes to redundancies

You will be the one they cut loose

You walk in nonchalant

As if it doesn’t matter

Everyone stops their chatter

Pause momentarily to check

An imaginary clock

It’s all been noted

The time you trotted up

So you try to explain

What’s that you say?

The bus, the plane, the train

The person has stopped listening

It doesn’t matter what you say

What’s going around in their brain

This person is a chalaton

A Liar, unreliable

Definitely not a team player

You spend the day

working extra hard

Even skipping lunch

You make sure you are the

Last one to leave

Hoping everyone will forget

The boss you are trying to appease

Maybe if you could turn back time

What would you do differently

Where to begin on the list? 

Just simply get to work on time

Then the Baby said....

As a writer I enjoy when I can give those who don’t have a voice an opportunity to come to life in a poem.  We have an ongoing family joke about things that talk that should not.  I often find myself reminding my 8 year old, to be weary of talking food, particularly fruit.  I recently was confessing my love for pink grapefruit .I adore pink grapefruit even above Mangoes and pineapple anyhow.  My daughter swiftly took the pink grapefruit and an orange put them together got down on one knee  and proposed, it was the best offer I had that day, I was tempted to say yes.

Now this poem is much more important than talking fruit.  this is the voice of an abandoned child.  The casualty of a broken home.

Posted on FB 10/03/13

#37 How Could You Leave Me?

How could you leave Me?

You didn't even take the time out to get to know me

How terrible could I be?

When half your DNA runs through me

What could I have done ?

That was so bad

I am confused

You had your fun

I am the one that you have cut loose

I need you now

I know I am small

You are so big

I understand you maybe unsure

How to pick me up

Go ahead I won't break

Hold me, rock me, love me

Until my little heart stops this ache

I need you now

I need you later

Can't you see mums just fronting

She can't do it on her own

If it was the other way around

I would never leave / abandon you

I would hold you, rock you, love you

Till all the lies doubt and confusion

Become truths

Making up Should be Private

I guess you figured it out, I travel a lot on London Underground trains, on my way to work and during my day.  So I have a lot of time to observe certain things, and behaviour.  My pet hate I know I am not alone Women Putting on Makeup particularly in the morning.

When I was younger I guess the fascination was more of “how do you do that?” now it’s more “Why do you do that?”

I have seen some transformations but my personal view is ‘O Natural’ all the way.

This poem was posted on fb 13/03/13

#40 Making up on the Train

She opened her magician bag of tricks

Right before us she would transform

Into some sort of Hot Chick

First she laid the foundation

It would seem she was a woman with a lot of imperfections

She applied it gently filling all the cracks

Not sure why hasn't she heard 'Black don't crack'

She made her eyes up with pencil liner, 

Mascara and some powder for her brow

Surely she had finished

What was she planning to do now?

Rouge, bronzer.

We sat stared and wondered

Then she applied some lippy

Then she was finished in a jiffy

Put on her gloves and collected the metros

Well that was a surprise

It's not what you do

It's how you look for the show