I am currently toiling with fashioning a poem for a competition, and, as ever, inspiration is deserting me. I sit in front of a blank screen hoping that by some obscure process my fingers will dance across the keyboard and produce lyrical imagery and captivating rhythms. So far – nothing.
Sometimes I wake early with an idea and am prepared with a notebook and pen on my bedside table. On other occasions a walk will usually activate my otherwise dormant brain cells. I went out this afternoon hoping that the unusually mild December weather would offer some sort of stimulus, but to no avail. My notebook remained wedged in the pocket of my jacket.
On my return I decided to have a shower and typically that was the moment when inspiration struck. Naturally I do not have notebook and pen to hand inside a shower, and, given the limitations of my short term memory these days, I had no option but to grab a towel and drip my way into the lounge and scribble something into my notebook. I say ‘scribble something’ purposely since I was also without my glasses as well as clothes. Fortunately, I am able to make out what was written, despite the drips of water on the page. I can always say that it was tears that left the marks, which is not far from the truth.