Category Archives: Poetry by David E. Booker

Creative anxiety

*

Oh, those bug farts /

give me quite a start. /

just tear me apart, /

and then I cannot start. /

*

I cannot put pen to paper /

Not now, not then, not later. /

Any noise is absolute traitor /

Drives to a creative nadir. /

*

My computer screen remains blank; /

There’s no fuel in the tank /

Ideas are skunk skank /

If I golfed, it’d be a shank. /

*

A car horn blocks away /

Children running round to play /

All these reach out and slay /

Any creativity today. /

*

Oh, the muses do decree /

All these sounds won’t let me be. /

Even a leaf from a tree /

Is as loud as a crashing sea. /

*

Oh, dear God, if you exist, /

Please grant my bucket list /

Or at least if you insist /

Take away all who made me pissed. /

*

Silence, only silence I can abide. /

I accept not your a chide /

Even your socks across the floor, slide /

Make me full of bile and snide. /

*

I will not, cannot not live in peace /

Until all sound reaches surcease /

Until even the bee’s knees /

Reach a point of full freeze.

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