Block Poem by bob barci
Block
I’m so tired
of all these blocks.
I get these great big urges
to sit and write,
Oh, God, if you only knew,
much I really want to.
I feel the blood
rush to my head
and speed me to my poetic high.
I’m drunk with anticipation.
Everything’s set
as I place my pen to the paper.
And, oh God,
I’m a total blank.
Absolutely nothing comes to mind.
Why can’t I think?
Who stole my brain?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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5/1/2024 11:44:44 AM # 1.0.0.1119
