Posted by Jennifer Stemper on March 27, 1999 at 03:03:33:
On the desk sits my writer's block.
An awkward piece of wood to chop.
Please ideas, pour out of me.
A short story, essay or some poetry.
A blank page frightens beyond all reason.
Where is my passion, emotion and season?
Grasping at any kind of inspiration.
Drat these splinters and perspiration.
Maybe my characters can sail a boat.
Or fight crocodiles down in a moat.
I can feel the water, murk and muck.
Then all at once my ax gets stuck.
This callous block has stopped me cold.
Laughing and taunting as I grow old.
With my back almost broken and hands
rubbed raw.
I trade in my ax for a power chain saw.
Ideas are flying, there's lots of wood chips.
Sculpting my creation with clever quips.
Finally, design and hard work have done
the trick.
No longer a block, just a mere toothpick.
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