Blehh

I hope it’s OK if I announce I am sick of NaPo. It’s making me barf. I have nothing more to say about anything on this planet or off it, in poetry or prose, with punctuation or without it. The next poem I write should by rights be that green hospital electronic flat-line noise which starts just before the film credits start rolling except I have no more brain cells left with which to figure out how to make that a poem or even a facsimile thereof.

So blehh.  

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8 thoughts on “Blehh

  1. Hehe.

    The feeling is mutual. At day 16 I was going strong, or so I was feeling, but at day 17 it [the poem] got struggled forth, and at day 18 I was totally exhausted: as if I had nothing to write about, as if I had nothing good to write about that I could pull decently off, and as if I was facing a brick wall.

    Not really found a solution yet, but I’m going to draw to paintings now, images, and myths. I can’t write about anything else, I feel: it’s all spent.

    Perhaps some of that could work for you too?

    Best,
    James

  2. This is the time to pull the limericks and the haiku out. Ballads. Nursery rhymes. Little poems, like Julie’s Julain (three metered lines rhymed ABB). That sort of thing.

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