Trying to Write
I reached deep into a empty well
with questions, not words
Questions such as
will I ever write again?
My body cries to lie down
but my heart refused to obey
I struggled to form
anything from the pen
The house was quiet like the backyard
so quiet you don’t even know you’re alive
Moon shined hot florescent white
on a humid summer night
I sat for hours trying to write
my hand resigned the pen and turned
out the light
Nobody could blame me if I
crawled in bed, could they?
There was nothing new inside me
the well was bone dry
I studied the paper gleaming from the
moonlight where I saw it quivering
when my breath touched it
Before long, before I knew it,
The sun was ripe for the eye
The well was full and plentiful
Morning nourished me, everything was
I took all the time I wanted as
pen came together with paper and
words flowed from the ink, this
pleased me greatly.
Tim Tipton was first seduced by the craft of poetry when he read the “Panther” by Rainer Marie Rilke. Tim is a graduate of California State University of Northridge where he received a Bachelor of Science in Sociology. He also received a degree in Substance Abuse counseling.