Time Crunch (group poem)

Sometimes, inspiration hits you

At the moment when you least expect it

Like bubblegum exploding in your face

Or better yet,

Inspiration taps you on the shoulder

At the exact moment when you need it most.

It’s like a wave of water

Rushing, gushing

Engulfing you in swirling current

Of thoughts, ideas, words, sounds, images, music—

A masterpiece.

Everything comes so easily.

Essays ooze from fingertips

Poetry is putty in your hands

You splatter similes on a canvas

And come out with abstract art.

And then there are those other times.

Each syllable squeaks and screeches

As you try to force it past another

Your thoughts congeal

Clogging up the pipes that lead to ingenuity and imagination

(If they even still exist).

The harder you try, the more force you exert

The stronger friction fights you back.

Physics may say that’s impossible,

But I bet physics has never tried to write a poem.

You’re plucking ideas like apples from a tree

Just to realize that there’s a gaping hole in your bag

And they’re all tumbling down the slope

Sliding into oblivion:

Aka that dark corner under your bed

Where everything disappears and nothing ever comes back.

Under pressure, you can see time closing in

Peering over your shoulder,

Its knobby fingers twiddling

Around, and around, and around

Inches from your face, so mesmerizing,

Drawing you deeper into its clutches

Twiddling around, and around, and around...

Distracted! Again!

You’re flustered, trying to muster the seeds of

Something

But there is no time

And the river of inspiration is not rushing

It’s not gushing

There is barely a trickle streaming down the page

Yet you try to lick it up anyway.

Time ticking, words sticking, gears clicking away

But somehow stuck in their tracks--

Inspiration runs on its own schedule.