Burden or Bliss?

Last night, I spent three hours in front of my computer screen, wrestling with that damned #3.
In a time of previous struggle, a friend of mine reminded me that “you can’t push a rope.” My muse is as limp as a rope.
It’s Easter Sunday. It’s Spring. When does bliss become burden?
I resurrect an old poem.
Waiting for the Fall
I was never one to yearn for spring,
the sky too full of eager wings,
the air a burden of song.
Even the ground swells, straining
under a yoke of seeds.
I wake with the winds of autumn,
when a cold sun
fades the trees to clarity,
when the line of the sky
cuts clean and sharp
above the leveled land,
when the earth is a slate
set for the poet

1 thought on “Burden or Bliss?

  1. Happy Easter, Elaine! Sorry to hear about your struggle. I remember that feeling of frustrated angst well. There was always at least one assignment per semester/workshop that was entirely to willful for me. The struggle became an epic battle scene on a ship, me fighting the pirates, one on 33 … waves crashing over the side smashing us all down onto the deck. That damned poem (or characterization or ending) just would not give it up, no matter what, resisting all attempts to carve it, mold it, collage it, revamp it, till usually, I just made it walk the plank … right into the dustbin.
    Good luck. Maybe if you throw that one rapscallion overboard and start over?

Leave a Reply