If you don’t follow the words when they come,

If you don’t follow the words when they come,

if you fail to pay attention or

if you think you can find them later or

if you make the mistake of ignoring them or

if you believe they’re unimportant or

if you hope you’ll be able to draw them out of thin air sometime later, 

maybe when you have the time, 

or maybe after dinner, 

or maybe just before you get into bed, or

if you put off writing just because you’re embarrassed 

to stand still in the middle of the sidewalk 

typing on your phone or jotting in your notebook 

as people pass you by 

afraid they’ll think you’re rude 

not to say hello or acknowledge those around you, 

if you don’t follow the words the moment they appear, 

listen, I’m telling you 

they’ll fade into the mist and disappear 

and it’s rare—if ever—that you’ll find them again, 

they’ll desert you in search of someone else prepared 

to hear their call, someone listening with an open heart 

the way you need to listen patiently for days or weeks or months, 

for however long it takes, for the sound you’ve been waiting 

and wanting to hear, and you—

you, the one who couldn’t spare a moment, 

who pretended not to hear anything—

if you don't follow the words when they come,

you’ll be left empty handed with nothing more than 

a faint dream of what might have been 

on the blank page in front of you .

Out of nowhere

It’s so strange how poems

come out of nowhere

like clouds passing by

like birds soaring overhead

fluttering to a branch for just a moment

suddenly still

then flying off again

or like rabbits 

hiding in the grass

playing a game of hide-and-seek

or peek-a-boo. 

Catch me if you can!

What if you think of your pen 

as a butterfly net chasing words, 

trying to catch your thoughts 

before they disappear?

Or maybe writing is like fishing—

casting your line into the water, 

waiting for something to bite, 

an odd mix of waiting and hoping, 

trying not to get discouraged,

wanting words to appear on the page.

And when they appear, 

you have to act quickly, 

your pen racing across the page 

trying to capture the words 

as they spill out of your heart.

Waiting for a Wave

On those days when words refuse to come, when you stare at the sheet of paper or the computer screen waiting for an idea, for the briefest glimpse of a path to follow, it can feel like you’re waiting in a still sea for a wave that will never emerge from the deep.

You can lay on your belly at the edge of the water and kick your legs to create the illusion of a wave, or you can wade in belly-deep and reach your arms into the water and pretend to be riding a wave, but you know you’re simply waiting.

There is no wave, and you aren’t going anywhere.

Yesterday was one of those days.

I stared out to sea all morning in search of the slightest swell.

At my desk I tried to build momentum by looking through old projects, hoping to catch a spark of enthusiasm to carry me forward, but found only sand and fog.

I wandered through the house, seeking I don’t know what, trying to shake the fog from my head, trying to see something new, something that I hadn’t seen before.

In the distance I could hear the faint sound of waves and knew they were there, even if I couldn’t see them.

No matter how much I told myself to be patient, that the waves would come, I remained frustrated, wishing the waves were here and that I could ride one now.

I folded laundry, waiting.

I doodled, waiting.

I searched the cupboard for pretzel rods, peanuts, granola bars (chocolate chip), and scarfed them down, waiting.

Finally, I went for a 15-mile bike ride, hoping the sun and air–the act of movement itself–would stir things up and clear the fog from my head.

The fog followed me the entire ride and settled over me afterward as I sat in the kitchen eating lunch.

But by mid-afternoon, when I returned to my desk, the fog had lifted.

I found a wave and was able to ride it, the first one all day.

It was only after I stopped seeking a wave, worrying about when it might appear, that it came.

Letting go of frustration and expectations seemed to help the fog lift.

And leaving my desk for a while to clear my head.

And keeping my eyes and ears attuned to whatever was around me and inside me, listening closely for the sound of a wave.

Each of us knows the waves are out there, soon to arrive, coming toward us.

Get ready to catch the next one.

Here it comes!

For more on waiting for words, visit:
http://knocklofty.com/?p=120
http://michellerafter.com/2008/01/09/when-the-words-wont-come/
http://www.englishsoftware.org/articles/improve-english-writing/how-to-keep-writing-when-the-words-just-wont-come-out/
http://talesfromthecrit.wordpress.com/2010/10/13/when-the-words-wont-come/