I feel like I have a bunch of poetry stuck in my head that won’t come out. It seems that when I think about what is keeping it back, it all comes down to the word “spun.” I’ve had that word as a potential seed for a poem for some time now and whenever I meditate on what to write next…my brain always repeats the word “spun.” And yet…I can’t seem to get something written around that word because for some reason I am resisting. Normally, I don’t resist. I just flow.
And that, my friends, is when the poet tries to go against her nature, her nature rebels.
Let’s see if I can’t release that roadblock today. I have no idea where I’ll take it, or if it will result in a flood of poetry, but hey…not knowing is part of the suspense.
Got my chai, got my ironing board standing desk out on the porch…here goes.