Perhaps it would be better not to be a writer, but if you must, then write. If it all feels helpless, if that famous ‘inspiration’ will not come, write. If you are a genius, you’ll make your own rules, but if not—and the odds are against it—go to your desk, no matter what your mood, face the icy challenge of the paper—write.
~ J.B. Priestly
If we must…and yes, it seems we must
Persuade into a pen thought’s scraped from dust
Or siphoned from the air, life’s filigree
Of moment quick-fall sealed in poetry
The care of circumstance cleaves to our skin
Seeking to weigh our hands with living’s din
And yet, it seems we’re driven to a stage
Reserved for suffering with pen and page
We paper rooms with echoes; silence swells
With notes the aching throat and heart regales
But restless is that ever-thirsting yen
Until we fill and spill the poet’s pen
If we must…and yes, it seems we must
Spell out thought’s burning, yearning wanderlust
Oh wretched, blessed bliss to beggars born
To live somewhere twixt pulse and parchment torn
© Janet Martin
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I hope you enjoyed your pause on this porch and thank-you for your visit!