Poet’s Quandary

I were
to write
every day
for one
hundred days,
would my soul
be purged of
this malaise;
is it a thing
to be dredged,
dragged up –
and tied
like tattered
bed sheets
is there
a remedy
for this
or is this
an inherent
a fiery blue
spark of eternal
angst igniting
passion – a call
to write?

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Permission to write, paint, and imagine are the gifts I gave myself when chronic illness hit - a fair exchange: being for doing. Relevance is an attitude. Humour essential.

4 thoughts on “Poet’s Quandary”

  1. I love this! Your metaphors are vivid…making me want to write. I’m not reading poetry(except for yours) right now, let alone writing. Concentrating on enameling and my healing plan; hoping to launch it March 1 with a blog post. So many wonderful interests in this world, so little usable time. Lying in bed thinking about what I’ll do doesn’t seem to get it done! Are most of your poems written close to the time you post them, or are some from your stash? I send you abundant health!


    1. I have no stash of poems, only starting writing them when I became ill. As you can appreciate, I have a lot of horizontal time, however; resting the mind is much more difficult than resting the body, lol.
      I look forward to hearing about this healing plan.


      1. Thanks for the reply. All I can say is, “Wow!”. You are more productive than most healthy dedicated poets. I hope you get a lot of satisfaction out of this ability.


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