Unfinished

Unfinished

By: James Dubeau

What is this

What am I doing

Sitting in the coffee shop

Drinking it black

While tapping keys

Idly working on

One project

Than another

Before losing an hour

Or maybe three

Surfing the web

For this and that

Why is there no focus

Why is nothing finished

Where did it all go

When I was not looking

Did my muse run off

Taking my creativity with her

Did stresses surmount all else
Do I not want to write anymore

Or maybe my creativity never was

Leaving behind all the projects

Pending on my computer

Novel third draft only just started

Short story fourth draft halfway finished

And least of all

This poem

Is not…

Time

Time
By: James Dubeau

Time
Has no meaning
When I sit here
By myself
Letting the seconds
The minutes
The hours
Tick on by
Unable to see the sun
Rise and fall
Through the closed
Window shades
Skews my perception
Of the day
With no goals
No objectives
No work
Today
Nothing has been accomplished
Before the day
Has wasted away

Blah

Blah
By: James Dubeau

nothing on the mind
no poetry to write down
nothing worth posting

Sickened Muse

Sickened Muse
By: James Dubeau

Where is that spark
Where is that idea
Which will carry me
To the end
I need something
To write about
I need something
To dream about
Worlds to create
Worlds to live
Worlds to meander through
With rambling words
Filling the blank pages
But the spark
Does not come
No inspiration today
Not while I’m feeling ill
Not while I’m nursing this tea
My muse is gone
Away from me today
Hidden behind
The mucus
And illness
She will not return
Not until I’m better
And well rested
And full of spit and gumption

Unproductive

Unproductive
By: James Dubeau

As I sit here
Drinking a beer
The words do not flow
They do not pour
From these fingers
Upon these keys
Could it be
Due to the noise
Rippling from
The room next to me
Distracting me
From what I seek
Or could it be
Because I am tapped
And no more good
Can come from this mind
For all my ideas
Have found themselves
Upon the page
Leaving me an empty shell
With no more to say
Or could it just be
That it all was just a sham
And that my muse
Has been gunned down
Long ago
And her last
Dieing breath
Was for me to go on
Without her
Even though
I am nothing
Without the guidance
The direction
She provided me
Only time will tell
If things will change
And if it will be
That I may find another
My search will continue
Until the end of time
For a new muse
Must be
Has to be
At the bottom
Of one of these
Bottles