My Poetry Year: Entry #17

In which Your Humble Blogger gives you an idea of how truly low the poetry goes when she can't summon even a hint of inventiveness:

"I Am an Insomniac Without Inspiration"

I expect the words to come
Because I have my notebook open;
I have a pillow and expect to dream.
I am still alive, yes,
But I wonder:
Since I also expect to breathe,
At some point, should I begin to worry?

* * *

At this point in this blogging project, I find myself asking the same question that I think I asked myself last year, when I wrote the poem above: "Come on, when does it get good already?" It's a horrible question to ask. My belief is that there's always something out there to write about; it's just a matter of a writer being open enough to perceive it and willing to work out the best way to present it. When you starting writing poems like the one above, I think it's a sign that something's off with your process, or worse, your attitude toward your process. And something was most definitely off.

This is the best I can offer from a section of my notebook that I've dreaded getting to, because I'm not sure how to handle it or if even posting examples of writing that I consider lazy and well below standard is a good idea. But this is how last year's writing went -- warts and all. ;) Next post, I plan to share the poem that I wrote when I finally decided not to accept my stupor. That one I dread for a different reason: My memory says that it's the second longest poem I've ever written.

If you've stayed with me through these posts, please know that I appreciate your company as I go through my record of 2010. You are most surely a process junkie as well. ;) And I'm honored that you're here.