Writer’s Block (T.H. Chalm, October 25, 1997)

It has to be a little every day.
I’m lazy, though. For inspiration wait.
When sun does shine, it’s time for making hay.
My hunger for expression, never sate.

Just write of anything inside my head.
Whatever is the first thought in my mind.
To poetry, my circumstances lead.
I go exploring, see what I can find.

I wander with my thoughts as on a leash.
I let them guide wherever they may go.
Like Gautier, might first consume hashish.
The pleasures from a plant, all that I know.

“Deducted from your share in Paradise
that portion that today with us consume.”
Would you equate this sticky tar with vice?
The wisdom of the world you must subsume.

That heaven would, a budget, closely keep?!
That God from ether has material.
The valley of dry bones, they upwards leap.
Encased with flesh and blood, as natural.

That portion that he gives as daily bread.
In truth, much more than what I need today.
For that, be thankful, what it is he said.
My faith in providence, all fears allayed.