Jonathots Daily Blog
(3569)
On The Pot
I sit on the pot
Trying to decide
Should I go to the other room,
Chilly and looming with shadows?
Or remain warmer, but totally unenlightened
The difference matters only to me
And I am indifferent
Listen to me, child of God
There is no such thing as writer’s block
Just writers
Who attempt to block out whiny ideas
Mostly because they don’t glisten
Yes, they sniff of trite
Grab the thesaurus
Meaningless, worthless, no value, vacant, without purpose, without…
Readers
Therefore without the honor of being deemed a writer
But it is the trivial that dances for us
Not the Austrian princess swirling to a Strauss waltz in a gala ballroom
But rather, your aging mother swinging her hips to the music
As she stares out the kitchen window, washing dishes
You see, there is no mundane
Unless we are all mudheads
If that be the case, then fascinate ourselves we will
By using the butterfly flitting across the babbling brook?
How ridiculous
After all, we are the babblers
Given life, but demanding LIFE
Yet living is always best experienced first hand
For now, I neither travel to the chilly space
Or return to the toasty surroundings
I am writing on the pot
Historical porcelain
The unheralded, magnificent seat of inspiration
The producers of jonathots would humbly request a yearly subscription donation of $10 for this inspirational opportunity
Jonathots Daily Blog 