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Author: Beth Brooks PM
This is definatly NOT poetry, more of the making of poetry, i was bored! If u are too, this might entertain you!Rated: Fiction K+ - English - Humor - Words: 741 - Reviews: 2 - Follows: 2 - Published: 07-02-12 - Status: Complete - id: 3038360
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I was almost asleep when BAM a line hot me that I just haaad to write down, and then I thought well I'll just remember it, it played over and over in my mind, then it was joined by another and another, until I had an entire stanza! And it was carbon gold! Carbon? Is that what ink is made of? Well what ever ink is made of… it was Golden! So at mid night thirty I roll over pull the metal string of my night stand lamp and squint against the harassing rays as I blindly reach for my journal, which of course is never far.
Then once the light decides it's a friend not foe to my eyes and we can all get alone nicely, I begin searching for a blank page while repeating the stanza over and over so as not to forget a single word. And between us, it's kind of a joke me searching for a blank page, because you see I have two journals, both are filled back and front with poems, songs, mindless ranting, characters profiles from my novels, all sorts of things, so my "searching" becomes settling on writing over unlucky family member's phone number and address, and no doubt, next baby shower or party I'll be searching for it, but I don't really like them anyway… so sacrifices must be made, yes?
So after I print out my stanza, I examine it, and yes, it's lovely, full of rich feeling, but alas! It's only a stanza! My brain aches for sleep, my eyes turn heavy but my heart is determined to finish, so I read it again with drooping heavy eyes, and suddenly I feel it inside of my starting to blossom! My poem will not go unfinished! It will not be lifeless forced to have no body! And the words and the desire and the pulse pour out of me my ink smudging on the old paper, it already crinkled by the undesirables contact information. It's jading the purity of the piece. It deserves to be on something clean, and not tomorrow, but now.
I glance over at the sleeping lap top… Well if I had to wake up…
The lap top whirs and clicks its agitations, (it currently burns my legs to let me know it still protest this abuse) but my fingers start to click at first slowly over the keys. Typing each word carefully, to avoid my ever popular mistakes, then more quickly as emotion pulls me in, dragging me into the moment, my fingers start pounding, and I know it isn't necessary, but neither are the injustices I type out and still they appear in front of me! The screen objects to my spelling, much as it does now, and corrections are made, then, I log onto my account, delete another of my poems in my drafts so that I may have room, and post up.
Summaries present a whole new challenge, there like egg rolls, no one ever knows exactly what to put in them or if they'll be good, they just sort of throw some stuff together and pray there good enough, or at the very least interesting. Then again, I've never thrown up off a bad summary. Yet. Any way, I muddle through hoping to sound clever but elusive enough to draw you in, stick the rest in order and there you have it!
And ahh finally I can go back to sleep! I shut the journal. Turn off the lamp, snuggle down in bed…. And wonder if I've gotten any reviews yet… what can checking my email once hurt?
So I skip over, and because my lap top is truly awful it takes a full 5 minutes, in that time I pull up Word again, clicking one two many times, and think with this blank page I can write anything….
Out spill another poem….
The process is repeated, the lap top is burning my legs fiercely now. And since I had one more blank Word page up I thought I'd share with all of you who take the time to read this insane tired late night early morning, good grief the time has flown, rambling exactly what went into my posting today!
And since I'm already on, maybe I'll check for reviews, just one more time…. :D