Winter bleak, cold and dark;
Tho’ “Not so bad.”, Past Winters bark.
Still it saps this writer’s mood,
His efforts at sage interludes.

He sits and stares
At keyboard wanting,
Needing,
Waiting,
Anticipating.

Pressure builds.
Will readers stray?
Cannot you find
Something to say?

Hurry, the mind urges
Or they will wander
To some other place
To slake their hunger.

Resist!  No surrender
To that nagging command,
Temptation to toss them
Whatever’s at hand.

Just try something new,
That you want them to see.
Do it for you to
Dispell your ennui.

And so it occurs on a day with no spark
An effort to purge those fears that harp,
That threaten with a mild depression
Over a blockage in written expression.