I Look Down On My Writing Desk Poem by Shaun Cronick

I look down on my writing desk.
A blank sheet of paper stares back at me...
So white and innocent.
Apart from a blue pen sitting idly on it.
Oh! What shall I write about.
I pick up my pen.
And hastily scribe, just mere scribblings, some bad idea's.
This pen.
My trusty pen.
It writes good and bad, short and sweet, long and long winded.
But what shall I write about.
Something new and inventive.
Something original unread like never before.
To tell a story all readers will love and adore.
Or frighten the crap out of them.
Oh God I wish I had the imagination.
To think of a good idea that comes to fruition.
For some it comes easy.
Easy peasy lemon squeezy.
To others it's simply a mystery.
I try to think outside the box.
Outside my mind.
Outside my head.
Outside the box making factory.
Perhaps write something light and witty.
Perhaps chance to write something that's one of its kind.
Boy that's a tall order, a real toughie.
Too many thoughts clutter my head.
Need a rest.
Need to sleep.
I'm tired of thinking better go to bed.
And in a dream it's Eureka!
The answer to my lack of good ideas.
The cure for my writer's block.
An idea.
A brilliant, bona fide, damn good original idea!
My poetic inspiration.
In the morning I awake and get up.
Forgetting everything.

I look down on my writing desk.
A blank sheet of paper stares back at me...