Poem – Writer

Each day, I go to work; / there, I’m not a writer, / but am who they pay me to be.

Ideas and inspiration / I relegate to scraps of paper, / which accumulate throughout the day.

I rush home to fix dinner / and stow the ideas on my desk – / I’ll have to review later.

Then I read with the kids, / after baths are done / and tomorrow’s lunches are made.

I hear giggles and see smiling faces / and little fingers with scissors – / my ideas become confetti.

I calm myself – I have tape, / they are God’s gifts, I remember, / not Devil’s creatures sent to destroy me.

After bedtime hugs and kisses, / by computer screen glow, / I piece together ideas,

Write and rewrite sentences – / I’m close to something good, I know; / if I could just find the right word…

I don’t aspire to be / the next literary great, / only to craft an entertaining read.

Some days it flows, like a river, / other days it blows, like a geyser – / It’s all part of being a writer.

I wrestle with sentence structure, / contemplate punctuation, / Google questions about grammar.

I make the plot and redesign, / halfway through, I change my mind; / which I can do, because I’m a writer.

Minutes blur into hours; I have no sense of time / my word passion is hard to explain, / and most can’t understand.

Reluctantly, I retire for the night, / so tomorrow I can do it all again; / more than anything, I want to be a writer.


2 thoughts on “Poem – Writer

  1. Bill Tucker January 14, 2011 / 10:56 AM

    I enjoyed the program; especially the following line:

    I calm myself – I have tape, / they are God’s gifts, I remember, / not Devil’s creatures sent to destroy me.

    Very descriptive of those of us who aspire to be good writers.

    • jannatwrites January 15, 2011 / 12:07 AM

      I’m glad you enjoyed the poem, Bill. Thanks for your comment!

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