Poets Workshop

I can't speak for anyone else here, only myself.

I could let words
fill the page, like salt spilled on the table,
a mess of crystals, each a solid, stately, dignified form
in the microscope’s lens, but that’s not
what salt is for; table salt belongs in the shaker
or sprinkled on food,
spilled salt is a waste, a meaningless mess,
as are these
heaped syllables.

When I have something to say
that I’d like you to hear
because it’s the truth
and important
I’ll write real
words for
you.

Roberta

Just checked in for the first time in ages, saw this and said to myself... "self, that is why you aren't writing anything." 

Well put, Roberta.

Partially, partially overwhelmed with other things, lack of time, I wish sometimes that there were more hours in the day.

I made a promise to do something for someone, make them a baby blanket, as a thank you for getting me tickets and backstage passes to a rock show, unfortunately I have been struggling to get it done between my two jobs and the kids, time has come short. I have about one week left to finish it, then get it shipped out and internationally too, I still have to figure that out, customs...yuck! I just got the material for the back so hopefully once I get this done, my time will free up, and I still have three others to do, but they aren't due until next year which gives me the months free to do them at a pace I like.

Time, time, I so wish for more time.