Block, a poem written by Henry Bladon at
Marcel Herms



written by: Henry Bladon


He sits. 
Fingers motionless,
        surrounded by the dust
of books that have been drawn
        to his side.

He takes some more time 
        and thinks.

His clothes hang:
tired, old and full of holes.

Sometimes thoughts burst through 
         in a clatter of mania;
                a cascade of creativity.

Today, keys do not move with purpose.
Today, fingers are motionless.
Today there is nothing.



Artwork by Dutch artist Marcel Herms.

Latest posts by Henry Bladon (see all)