Rant...
that's what they said to write about
but I avoid, resist
only to begin in starts and stops
like a tired sputtering engine
and the only thing to show for all my effort
a discarded mound
half-finished poems
crumpled balls of paper
that fill the trash
I tell myself I'll try again
just not now
the week's mishaps
take up too much space
stirring in my head
still...there's so much to rant about
shouldn't it be simple
to set it down on paper
the almost completed watercolor
ruined
exposed to the afternoon sun
the temporary sealant layered
like a protective glove
meant to preserve the tender white spaces
from staining tints
now seared into cotton paper
a blank computer screen
three hours writing
gone
all those carefully orchestrated words
now rising steam
just beyond my reach
that should have been enough
for one day's ledger
but weary from the day
I destroy a week's worth food
watching helpless
it torches in angry flames
still
I cling to the belief
the week has to improve
but politics and fiery emotions
hurled like spears
leave me dodging attack
while board members
struggle to make sense of past
future
words chiseled
molded to fit separate realities
the conflict leaves me sleepless
rummaging through the day's residue
I finally doze to hopes of a calmer day
only to be rousted from dreams
new neighbors making love
their screeching voices
loud intrusive
stealing away the silence
meant to inhabit
these precious pre-dawn hours
the peaceful sanctum of home
shaken
as life's decisions press in
arguments
tension
grip me in a painful vice
I'm left to wonder
why no one seems to see
I'm too raw
too weary
need to be left alone
carving space to reflect
I conclude
there's no full moon
no astrological forces
to blame
for all the debris
perhaps the storm has passed
could it now be safe
sift through the remains
rant
move on to gentler
more accommodating days
Reanne Singer, October 14, 2013
that's what they said to write about
but I avoid, resist
only to begin in starts and stops
like a tired sputtering engine
and the only thing to show for all my effort
a discarded mound
half-finished poems
crumpled balls of paper
that fill the trash
I tell myself I'll try again
just not now
the week's mishaps
take up too much space
stirring in my head
still...there's so much to rant about
shouldn't it be simple
to set it down on paper
the almost completed watercolor
ruined
exposed to the afternoon sun
the temporary sealant layered
like a protective glove
meant to preserve the tender white spaces
from staining tints
now seared into cotton paper
a blank computer screen
three hours writing
gone
all those carefully orchestrated words
now rising steam
just beyond my reach
that should have been enough
for one day's ledger
but weary from the day
I destroy a week's worth food
watching helpless
it torches in angry flames
still
I cling to the belief
the week has to improve
but politics and fiery emotions
hurled like spears
leave me dodging attack
while board members
struggle to make sense of past
future
words chiseled
molded to fit separate realities
the conflict leaves me sleepless
rummaging through the day's residue
I finally doze to hopes of a calmer day
only to be rousted from dreams
new neighbors making love
their screeching voices
loud intrusive
stealing away the silence
meant to inhabit
these precious pre-dawn hours
the peaceful sanctum of home
shaken
as life's decisions press in
arguments
tension
grip me in a painful vice
I'm left to wonder
why no one seems to see
I'm too raw
too weary
need to be left alone
carving space to reflect
I conclude
there's no full moon
no astrological forces
to blame
for all the debris
perhaps the storm has passed
could it now be safe
sift through the remains
rant
move on to gentler
more accommodating days
Reanne Singer, October 14, 2013