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…

Tired

Tired
By: James Dubeau

Tired
Eyes droop
Under heavy glasses
The sun has risen
But the soul has not
Heavy body
Cannot be moved
From the restful bed
Nevertheless
Work must be done
Worlds must be created
Before the sun has set
Again

Notepad

Notepad
By: James Dubeau

Slowly the book fills
Black on white
Between the blue
Page after page
Once fresh pages
Turn dog-eared and old
In this once forgotten
Twice remembered
Notepad
Random thoughts
In poetic verse
Filter through
Onto the pages
When the mood strikes
Or at times
To fill the void
Sometimes I wonder
What is the point
Of exposing my soul
In this craft
Which no one cares
When I share
What should be private
Away from this
My little
Notepad

Medicated

Medicated
By: James Dubeau

My eyes grow heavy
On this afternoon
As pen scratches paper
On this dreary day
I need to be up
Active
Moving around
Running around the block
But today
I cannot
Not while this illness
Hangs heavy
Upon my head
Keeping me weighted down
With medications
Unable to move
Unable to enjoy
That which
I typically do
All that I can
Accomplish today
Is writing these few lines
Before nodding off
Returning
To dreamless sleep

Race Day

Race Day
By: James Dubeau

When the race
First began
There was shouting
And cheering
And bands
But soon I
Fell into the groove
And nothing but silence
Over labored breaths
Rounding the corner
Down the street
Drunken frat boys
Cheer on their feet
But the event
Had just begun
And there was no support
Not really
Soon the cheers were behind me
And silence crept back in
As I labored on
Trying to make progress
I could finish
I knew I could
But it reminding
Of that important fact
Over and over and over
Again
As I kept moving
Making my way
Only pausing slightly
At the rest break
But still pushing forward
Faster than I expected
Still keeping momentum
Even after all this time
Rounding the last corner
End is in sight
I sprit for the finish
And hop on all right

Laundered Words

Laundered Words
By: James Dubeau

I see you
Sitting there
Mounded
Spilling over the edges
Of your basket
Waiting to be worked on
Waiting to be finished
Waiting to be cleaned up
Waiting
Waiting
Waiting
Until I have a free moment
Enough time to spend
Dealing with you
After work
Or on the weekend
When no one else is around
And nothing better is going on
Other than sitting around
Drinking all the beer
Cleaning you up
Removing all the stains
Making you presentable
To show off in public
Too bad
No one will even notice
The hard work
It took
To clean you up
To straighten you out
To make you
Presentable

Hit The Page

Hit The Page
By: James Dubeau

Write
Write
Write
That is what
They say
When you are
Locked
When you are
Blocked
When you are
Clocked?
Just keep them
Fingers on moving
Just keep them typing
Across those keys
Keep that Pen
Scribbling ink
Keep the thoughts
The emotions
The dreams
Flowing
And
Sooner or later
Something may come
Something decent
Shall hit the page

Pen And Napkin

Pen And Napkin
By: James Dubeau

Here I sit
Waiting for
God know who
To show up
And all that I have
To keep myself
Entertained
Is my Pen
This napkin
And all the
Jack and Cokes
I can drink
While my money
Holds out
Good thing
This old brain
Of mine
Is easily amused
That the thought
Of putting
Ink to paper
Is all that I need
To keep me going
On this night
Any other person
Would have gone
Insane
With the dancing
And the music
That floods
This establishment
As the first patrons
Filter on through
One by one

How Can It Be

How Can It Be
By: James Dubeau

How can it be
That I enjoy
This tall dark glass
Filled with foamy goodness
When only a few long years ago
I would have spat it out
If it touched my lips
How can it be
That I drink this drink
In the search of inspiration
Which always seems to leave
When I require it most
How can it be
That my thoughts and dreams
Are not enough fuel
For my stories to be written
And that assistance is needed
For the words to hit the page
How can it be
That is all seems so poor
When I go back to see
What I have done
In days bygone
How can it be

Mental Vomit

Mental Vomit
By: James Dubeau

My eyes are heavy
With the sleep
That eludes me
For several days now
They burn
With the fire
Of a thousand suns
While they are open
And the fire
Of two thousand
While closed
Only one thing
Can cool the burn
And bring the sleep
Which I desire
If only I could
Open my mind
Letting it all
Vomit upon the page
Any and all
That my heart desires
Love
Hate
And everything in between
In a spurge of creativity
Allowing my brain
Some space to relax
Stretch its legs out
And have a beer
While my body rests
Deep in slumber
That has been due
For quite some time

I'm Sorry

I’m Sorry
By: James Dubeau

I’m sorry
For taking
So much time
Away
From my writing
Unfortunately
Most of us
Know exactly
How things are
In this day
And age
Work
Can be
All consuming
Beast
That devours
Time
And energy
Now
Take that creature
Double its size
Fore
Double headed
Double job
Work day
Runs
Eight
In the morning
To
Eleven at night
Doing its best
Reducing
The few
Fleeting
Moments
Away from the toil
To be moments
Where relaxation
Is in order
If you add
The need to eat
And the desire
To sleep
Those days
Amount of free time
Is reduced
To
Next to nothing
Looking
At a computer screen
For
A good chunk
Of my work day
Means
The last thing
I want to do
Is stare
At a computer screen
Some more
Even
If it is
For something
Fun
The act of doing
The same repetitive motions
Again
And
Again
And
Again
Is enough
To drive a man
Insane
So
What I’m getting at
Is this
I’m sorry
For not updating
The stories
And
The poems
Which have been
Promised to
You and me
For this
I
Must atone
And resume
Writing
Posting
Even if it means
Nothing
But haikus
Three
Times
A
Week
Hopefully
This shall be
Satisfactory
In moving forward
As for right now
All that I can say
Is
Thank you
And please
Keep reading

As I Sit Here

As I Sit Here
By: James Dubeau

As I sit here
Eyes heavy with sleep
Fingers ache
Neck cracks
Pride wells up
While I sip my whiskey
Black splatters against white
Underscored by red and green
Goals are within sight
Hovering above
Just out of reach
Bouncing from my fingers
But not quite there
Not quite mine
No matter how hard I try
It remains out of reach
More effort is required
And maybe
Just maybe
Another glass

Untitled

A blank canvas rests before me
Icy blue lines gaze out
The piercing cold delves deep
A thin red line banks the side
Aggressions that counter balances the hate
Thoughts and images fly on by
None seem to stick to the fly paper of my mind
The page stays blank
Like a field of wind driven snow
Beautiful in the absence of form or shape
But yet craving, needing, wanting
A disturbance in the white nothingness
A thirst that needs to be quenched
By paragraphs, sentences, phrases
Or even just a title