Don’t be afraid of the silence.
Talent is permanent and you have it.
We all dry up for a while .

Powerfully penned, Tim. We all go through those spells my friend, it’s the life of a writer it seems. Be patient with your muse, sometimes they get fickle, but usually come around when it’s time. Hang in there brother. Maybe this write can help you start to break through the barrier. Appreciate you.

Damian

Thank you, ntd. Welcome to the site.

Silence can be deafening when we’re used to words and inspiration. The world is heavy right now, pressing down on creativity. I always find that not trying to look at it directly has a better chance of making contact again with the muse. I’ve been here, it is scary indeed

Well I for one am glad you are back. For two, writing tends to play hide and seek.
Eventually it will tag you amigo!
Don’t stress about the dry spell.
Enjoy life and the day to day stuff we take for granted.
Inspiration just might be found there two.

Hang in there buddy!

When I am stumped, I read several different pieces from a few writers that continue to inspire me. It usually works.
Yet, we all have that lull of course. It’s a breather from the mental tasking perhaps? At any rate, you will find a moment I am sure, to share a gem of yours with us. Hang tough!

Every poet hits that dry pond sooner or later—the mud cracks, the frogs go quiet, and you think the water’s gone for good.
But the fact you’re scared of the silence tells me the well’s still yours—it’s just waiting on rain.

Tim, I too have been through this. I believe your gift is still as strong as ever, it was just waiting for the right moment to resurface. You never lose the muse. This poem itself is an example of how you can take an emotion or feeling and make it into art.

John

Wow awesome. As the person said Don’t be afraid of the silence, I know it can be scary but it won’t hurt you. I personally learned to deal with it and eventually you will too.

Great work

It’s sad but beautiful words too. Sometimes there is no words to express. Except the silence around you. In silence our eyes see enough inspiration around us when there’s no sound , no voice in a small spot. Good write..Keep it up 🤗

Awww this is fantastic. I love all the imagery and longing.
Enjoyed the read!

There’s a sense of vastness to this. From the galaxies to the winter storm…and love at the end. I would say this is a powerful poem, my friend

We can all relate to traffic being a rat race. I have always dreaded big city interstates.
One wrong move and you are stuck there for hours. And that’s if you are lucky.
Something about this write makes me wonder if my boys ever studied me in traffic when they were younger.
I enjoyed the read.

Brilliantly penned, Thomas. Excellent write, you’re such a natural storyteller and are able with your amazing imagery to make me feel like I’m watching from the backseat my friend. A great read brother, nicely done. Appreciate you.

Damian

That silent observation of internal conversations is such a profound moment. Terrified in the backseat…I often feel that way about life these days. I have a friend whose grandmother used to drive us around in the backseat of her old green paneled station wagon, having full conversations in her head. But her half was audible. We never knew when she was addressing us or them. Took me back to those rides with this.

This took me back a good few years .. or yonks as we say this side of the pond .. thanks for the ride Thomas .. Neville

I couldn’t help but think of an old neighbor I had when I was young. He would drive me and his son and daughter to school up the street. Thank God it wasn’t far. He would talk as though we weren’t there and every once in a while hit the brake when someone pulled up to the corner of a street waiting to pull out. I couldn’t wait to get out. 🙂 Great story, Thomas.

Thanks. I appreciate it.

What a grand and deeply emotional memory of your Dad at the wheel with all his inner angst haunting him while you his passengers held on for dear life. Truly a great ride of a freeway poem that made for an exhilarating read. Enjoyed this journey through time and the highway. You painted an exquisite portrait of your Dad here my friend.

John

Thank you. Much appreciated.

haunting and chilling with a twist ❤️

Thank you, Crimsin. This is an old piece from my years fighting morphine addiction, given by doctors to treat my pain from an accident. It took twenty years to get free from it completely — and yet I am not free of pain killers. I’ve no choice there. I’m not sure I will keep this posted. It is not me anymore. But thank you for your words, I appreciate them.

Pain here isn’t metaphor — it’s a rabid animal chewing bone, and you let it howl.
Even in the morphine fog, your voice stays feral and human, refusing to die quiet.

The urgency in this is palpable. The way concepts almost run together in the frantic need. Intense. That’s a good word for it. It feels like PTSD and addiction ripping at the page here. Brilliant but it makes me sad for the man who survived that, and glad that it was in the past