Writer’s Block

Caught in a blizzard, stiff

Its icy fingers gripping at my throat

the white night blinds my step

Jeering wind mocks me

Its garlic pickle breath

stuffs my voice

Blinging hoarfrosted trees taunt my poverty

I rip them to shreds in defiance

Their icy crystal deposits clog my arteries

white powder of gold, wasted on babies bum

The blackened ink rushes from brain and limb

freezing up my pen

Buck up Nick! Watashi wa Regina.

Get used to the friggin’ frigid air

“God only knows why he left his home in the south to roam.”

By Shuana Niessen (20 Little Poetry Project Exercise)

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s