The unvoiced thoughts and ideas of a septegenarian.



          This verse is dedicated to all writers, whether of fiction or poetry, who struggle mightily to find the right words every time they sit down to write.   The right words don’t come swooping down, unbidden, and land just where a writer wants them on a page.  They play hide-and-seek; they elude the writer; they challenge him.  Only the best of writers can find them 100% of the time.

          Sometimes the writer depends on Webster or Roget to help him out. Sometime he searches for what others have had to say about his subject. Sometimes he tries half a dozen words before deciding which to use. And sometimes he crushes the paper into a ball, throws it into a wastebasket and goes for a walk or pours himself  healthy dose of Jack Daniels.   

          Despite their elusiveness writers happily face the challenge of ferreting the right words out of their corners. It’s a game writers must play. They’ve been roped in – there’s no choice, no escape.


In vain do I search for honeyed words;

Melodious, thoughtful, and warm.

Metaphors, similes, hidden from me.

If I try to write of hate and desertion

Rancor, and two-timing souls

I’ve nothing with which to compare.

Nor can I convey the feelings evoked

When writing of friendship and love.

Elusive the words that picture their spirit,

Fleeting, skybound, hidden in clouds.

Wispy are they to capture in prose or verse,

To write of a loved one, a worthy friend,

 a lesson learned, a truth uncovered.

A challenge to my leaky pen.

Yet can I write of trees and tulips,

Describe gardens in bloom,

Sand castles and sailboats.

Where are the words that evoke

smiles, delight, understanding

When I try to paint pictures of anger or peace?

I search long, dig deep, for words

That  do not betray my intent.

With envy, regret, I face the truth

No Shakespeare, Steinbeck,

Michener, Allende

Nor Plato  am I.


Post a comment

Julie Rose


Leave a comment »