This is the poem I wrote when I couldn't write anything.

My mind was blank and full of other details,

none of which made sense anyway.

Or were just too boring to be put into poetry.

Not that it matters.

I jump from idea to idea and give up after a stanza.

Or just a few lines because stanzas are overrated.

Or a single word because whatever came after it wouldn't be nearly as awesome.

Should I write blank verse?

A prose poem?

A stream of consciousness that nobody will ever understand?

Should I write a sonnet about birds and the moon and a lily pad (with a frog)?

Or a lyric poem where I praise the eyes of some distant beloved (who doesn't

exist)?

Should I use symbolism for a subtle meaning?

Or should I write something so obscure it needs three pages of footnotes.

Is a poem supposed to show you the inside of a poet's head?

I think that's a scary thought.

My brain must look like a ball of yarn.

All different colors and with millions of knots and small objects stuck inside.

An earring, a bottle, three marbles and an eraser.

A kitten, a crowbar, a maple leaf and a zipper.

I think this yarn ball would have voices, too.

A young girl, a sarcastic old biddy, a cracked out skater boy and somebody's dad.

And scents, it has to have different scents.

Maybe some vanilla, or mint, or worms, or pencil shavings.

I wouldn't recommend tasting it though.


A/N: Another poem for class. Oddly enough, I rather like it. Literally written ten minutes before class started after I had already tried writing six others.