Poem: Oh

Can’t seem to get the juices flowing
Brain’s frozen in time
Creativity’s not sowing . . .

. . . Its usual crops on fertile ground
No matter how much I provoke it
Cajole or hound . . .

. . . Till I’m blue in the face, frothing at the mouth
Wondering how I got into this mess
How the hell things went south . . .

. . . And productivity got stuck in the muck
My own inner artist silent, sullen
Lots of rows but no ducks . . .

. . . As writer’s block and similar things take over
Guilt and anguish crush sensibilities
Creating a New World Order . . .

. . . Similar to George Orwell’s 1984
Yeah, that Grade 12 reader, you recall,
Which was either an eye-opener or a bore . . .

. . . And now it’s pandemic time and my voice is silenced
My thoughts swirling like
A whirlpool of violence . . .

. . . Swishing, spinning, moving in circles
The news cycle not helping as
Few dare to hope for miracles . . .

But me, despite the world’s somber tone
I decide to stand with bros and sisses
Refusing to throw rabid fear-dogs a bone . . .

. . . Or allow the weight of worry to push me ground-ward
Or conspiracy theories to pull over my eyes
Ideas that blind like a sharp-beaked bird . . .

. . . Hoping for the best, as they say,
And prepping for the worst
While the sun continues shining
Making glorious hay

~ Gunnar Våken