Creating

College student, two a.m.

Electricity leaps up her nerves

And back through her limbs

Dancing to the beat of her thoughts.

Her fingers patter across her keyboard

Raining electricity into her computer

Alive with the thrill of creating,

of solving puzzles with patterns of thought.

They say that numbers are cold

And maybe, sometimes, they are.

But we have felt the lightning of the artist

And danced in the rain of wrestling thoughts.

And if God’s intricate handiwork in nature

(The recursion in every person and tree,

The lightning of our nerves and rhythm of our veins)

Breathes beauty, no wonder it can be the same for thought.

writer’s Block is

that oft-lamented subject

that I have hurried past,

too busy consuming words to care

and -- shall I say it? -- maybe even

afraid to meet it squarely in the eye.

but

if a Box could capture

staring but not staring

hoping for a spark

sedated by the desire

that every word emitted

knocks people out

and

if a Box could capture

staring but not staring

hoping for gold to fall

with thoughts and images

tinkling as they bounce

out of your head

and

if a Box could capture

staring but not staring

hoping for a diamond

to come pressed and fresh

from the stress of time

and the wear of giving of your mind

then

maybe that Box would be

a chip off of that Block,

grinning as I turn away defeated

but crying out as I push it

from my mind’s eye:

remember the purpose for which you write.