This day has been
As hard and blank
As a prison wall.
Must get over it.
Some poet I am.
Whatever made me think
I could do this?
I have no idea.
Some days it’s easy,
The words flowing unbidden
Onto the page. This
Isn’t one of them.
Today it’s breaking rocks
Or hauling up some
Rusty anchor on miles
Of thick, slime-covered chain.
Five lots of sixteen:
Eighty words. Can I –
Dare I – call this
A good day’s work?
For anyone else who feels that writing is really hard work today! N.
Gonecycling (again) 
As Dick Feller wrote…Some days are diamonds/some days are stone. I’d say consider it a good days work.
Cheers, Dave – you’re right, of course. And I guess writing something is better than writing nothing!
Words are so rickety for me right now, Nick, that every time I try to create an edifice, it collapses into a heap of nothingness. This will end, of course, as your day ended with this poem. Then I’ll get back to really writing again. The last time you wrote a poem like this I copied it and gave it to Betty Hayes Albright. You’re a poet. You’ll write poetry. Sometimes it just comes hard.
Sometimes you need to read not write perhaps. Good luck xx