Midnight Poet, a gigan

Midnight Poet, a gigan

Writing poems long into the night.

Computer on my lap, beer in my hand.

I’m quite sure I’m a frightening sight.

Everything I write clearly hasn’t been planned

I read the words on the page and they’re so bland.

Prompts fly at me at a record pace.

I can barely keep all my thoughts in one place.

The coffee is brewing upon the stove.

I hope the caffeine unlocks my words.

Writing poems long into the night.

Prompts fly at me at a record pace.

Not wanting to quit but craving sleep

My head nods and bobs all over the place.

My body’s shutting down into a mushy heap.

As my eyes struggle to stay awake,

I gobble down another piece of cheesecake and fight on.

3 thoughts on “Midnight Poet, a gigan

  1. “I read the words on the page and they’re so bland.” This happens everytime I’m on a self- criticising spree and words simply don’t come out of hear. Lying dead, dormant, sleeping, like my muse’ evaporated into thin air.

  2. The gigan was a real challenge but you’ve made it appear effortless whilst at the same time encapsulating the whole feel of our marathon… Thank you sharing this with us 🌞

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