The Dreaded Block

Three different notebooks and not one phrase
a writer dreads these types of days
Before too long your heart is racing
From the mundane future you could be facing
You curse at songs and shun your books
The trees are barren, that you once shook
But then a seed or maybe half
You start to write, you start to laugh
and with relief you're off and running
to show the world your heart and cunning

Just Words

I fasten new meaning to innocent words
the things that they said aren't the things that I heard
my mind seems intent on hostile derivation
assuming the worst without hesitation
a drop of sarcasm a smidgen of spite
a simply spoke syllable didn't sound right
contemptuous consonants, volatile vowels
I feel the fury boil up from my bowels
the obvious judgement that sits on their face
oh how I long to put them in their place
the smiles fade too quickly becoming a smirk
it takes a saint to hold back from these jerks
just as my spine is shored up for attack
I breathe for a moment and take a step back
despite the sincerity they have or have not
what lured me to this trap in which I've been caught?
the impact imagined, the ire misplaced
they don't get to choose if I will be disgraced
I am the owner of these very ears
I am the curator of what sounds they hear
so I block out the angry the rude and absurd
and all that remains are quite simply just words

Words

We toil over words like we toil over clothes and hair and how we smell and if others will approve but words much like those other things really don't mean anything. Life makes sure of that. Think of all the "I wish you were dead" stories you've heard in your life. That wasn't what it meant when they said it, not really, but life made sure that the wish was granted nonetheless. Think of all the praise or compliments you get through the day that is dismantled in a back room out of earshot, or just the people you know hate you that always greet you warmly and gush about your look of the day. Then later you hear the truth from your coworker who had lunch with them. Words work for functionality and are pretty necessary for your day to day dealings but, when a tribal vocalist can bring you to tears with guttural sounds and a driving drum beat, it makes you realize that words really are only so important. Don't listen to the woman bitching at you, listen to the pain in her voice that punctuates the words and try to picture where it comes from. Next time you talk to a curmudgeonly senior citizen try to hear the wisdom in their voice. Next time someone spews hate try to see if you can tell if it's actual hate. It could be fear, it could be pain from one bad experience, or it could just be what their support system in life has always told them and maybe they just don't know yet what the truth really is.  More on words later...