When I’m Not a Poet
I twiddle my thumbs
Pull petals off daisies
I have nothing to say
I have everything to say
I’m a blind bird
in a silent winter
A realist with no humor
hiding out
I burn toast
Mark the days off the calendar
Put flowers on the table
and wait
________Colleen Redman / Poets United / Imaginary Gardens with Real Toads
November 12th, 2017 10:24 am
Oh My! I find you are a poet when you are not a poet. Such easy flow of words and images.
November 12th, 2017 10:39 am
I agree! This is beautiful!
November 12th, 2017 11:10 am
Poetry about not being a poet. Lovely!
Anna :o]
November 12th, 2017 11:13 am
What a flow of what life can be when we are not creating, waiting for inspiration….and I would say you are always a poet!
November 12th, 2017 11:57 am
Right. Poets don’t burn toast. 🙂
November 12th, 2017 12:07 pm
How i love “i’m A blind bird in a silent winter.” Wow! Beautifully written, Collen.
November 12th, 2017 12:10 pm
Love this Colleen… completely resonates!
November 12th, 2017 12:26 pm
I have nothing to say
I have everything to say
Exactly like this… and hopefully it continue to combine to poetry.
November 12th, 2017 2:51 pm
Loved it! I understand what you mean
November 12th, 2017 5:42 pm
Interesting, Colleen. You have described the mundane nature of much of life, I think. (Especially in late fall and winter?) We do have to make sure,however, that we don’t only ‘wait’ but get ourselves up and out the door! Smies.
November 12th, 2017 6:15 pm
I love this. When my muse is silent, I fill my hours with all I can to not dwell on I have nothing to ink.
November 12th, 2017 7:12 pm
Lovely.
I still burn toast. : )
ZQ
November 14th, 2017 10:27 am
Enduring Winter and waiting for Spring. There is something reassuring about burnt toast:)
November 14th, 2017 12:02 pm
I like a little blueberry jelly on my burnt toast when I’m not being a poet.
November 15th, 2017 12:13 pm
I can feel the creativity itching to burst forth here in the in-between times- love these lines especially
“I’m a blind bird
in a silent winter”