Photography poetry

No One is Home

Having knocked on
Writing’s door
through some
soul-searching hours,
I dare say,
No one is home.

Geez, words are
roaring ready.
Favored tools,
a leather-bound
spiral sits posed,
mechanical pencils,
poised, positioned,
patiently await,
screen is internet-ed,
nicely-behaving with
available services.

I shall knock once more,
set my muse alarm-clock
not to snooze but snore.

Geez, and I was ready.
I was ready.

7 replies on “No One is Home”

Greetings, Michael,

Yep, I believe we all knock on this door and wonder if anyone still lives there at times.
Thanks for reading & replying. Hope all is well.



Hey, Sarah,
I think our Words are just like us—after a while they get tired of the words. They have to have a recess, too. I find that often when I wish to write & get in touch with writing, I feel the connection when I write about the impossible struggle, the NOT being able to write! haha
Always nice to see you in our scoots around the Pub. Happy Saturday. Happy February.

Coffee to coffee miles away yet close in heart. That’s a good day’s start. Take care, my friend.,


Liked by 1 person

To you, too. Let’s have a good one.

Got to hold on to hope as we all travel the world’s bridge which has many missing planks these days. ha

Take care.


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