The Lost Art Of Composition by Judge Burdon at

The Lost Art Of Composition

The Lost Art Of Composition

written by: Judge Burdon


too often my thoughts and the ability to express them
are taken hostage without a clue to the cause
this is an affliction familiar to many a writer
as if madness wasn’t enough
it proves to be immune to every method I’ve used
to relieve my mind’s constipation
it enslaves your ideas and duct tapes the mouth of your soul
binds your fingers and hands so you are unable to write

I Whiskeyed and Scotched it self medicated with drugs
the addiction that resulted I thought could be bribed
held a knife at its throat threatened, bullied and beat it
poked and scratched at the eyes
Kicked it in the balls
pleaded and begged even got on my knees and prayed
all my efforts were ineffective
and only pissed it off more and tightened the grip
around my Muse’s neck

I had exhausted my resolve to this disease that consumed me
there was no other option but to surrender
I decided to give up, knuckle under call it quits
not answer the bell for the next round
I disconnected my computer and turned off my cellphone
the typewriter on my desk just for show
I’ve had since college every once in a while I have at it
so I stashed in the closet with books by Sexton, Wolfe and Burroughs
Cisneros, Bukowski and Gonzo

I turned down the lights and lit some candles
sat at my desk to prepare my suicide note
what happened when the ballpoint touched the paper’s surface
was the key opening the front door lock to home
an energy manifested that I had known long ago
before Technology had deadened its nerves
it sparked the transfer of thought into a word
forming the shape of a sentence
this cosmic electricity flowed into my hand holding the pen
then designed a paragraph the child of chapter
I touched every noun felt each verb envisioned the adjectives description
heard every “ly” in the adverbs reply and ignored the rules of punctuation

I had discovered the remedy to restore my inspiration
the cure I possessed all along
The lost art of composition was my salvation
my own prescription is what I wrote

the poet is an artist that paints in the darkness
a poem’s words the colors that create light
a writer is blessed with all of the answers
cursed in the search for what questions to ask

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