Writer's Block-A Poem

By Miriam B. Medina (Copyright)

Am I poet, or am I writer?
I just can't differentiate between the two.
Sometimes I'm good with poetry,
There are articles and short stories I also like to do.

Every so often writer's block visits, my uninvited guest,
Hindering the writing process, that usually flows at its very best.
Self-doubt creeps upon me, self-worth drags me down,
The more I try to write, the larger the paper mound.

The plot gets too twisted, leading characters too grotesque,
My story becomes too dark altogether.
Eventually one thing leads to another, and
There you go, a day's work for the house-keeper beneath my desk.

A habit was forming, watching pages get crumpled and thrown,
Undeniably it's a sad journey in creative writing,
All writers must travel alone.
No matter how much I try, my waste basket keeps getting filled.

Oh woe is me, what a waste of creative time,
I've gone from skilled to feeling unskilled.
Writer's block makes me angry; inspiration doesn't come quick enough,
Words that once flowed easily freeze, making it impossible to strut my new stuff.

I'll try my hand at poetry; maybe I'll be lucky then,
So I can put an end to this writer's block and sweetly say amen.
I've searched and searched for rhyming words,
Fluttering all around inside my head.

My mind keeps getting twisted, unemotionally fed.
Thoughts that keep me from sleep and a comfy bed.
Screaming to be released, requesting to be heard.
All trapped inside like a miserable caged bird.

Some of these words are wise and linger,
They're the sweetness of fruit, why should I hinder?
Others will take me to heights intense,
Everything is possible, yet together do they make sense?

Ugh, poetry in whatever shape or form does not inspire me,
It's written in a way to confuse and ruin my tranquility.
So where do I go? What can I do?
The answers were there, which I very well knew.

Play background music, burn scented candles,
Slip away to a quiet place and walk.
Visit a crowded cafe, sip coffee, and
Hear some interesting gossip talk.

Nothing is wasted, that is for sure,
For writer's block, there is always a cure!
So back to my keyboard once again,
The time I spend there, will not be in vain.

The Bully

By Miriam B. Medina(Copyright)

There he stood,
6 feet tall
All large and strong
In his head covered hood,
The bully of Roanoke High
Pompous Bastard,
Who does he think he is?

His face like stone
Flexing his muscles
Rubbing his fist
Proud as an eagle
He was the King of his turf
Surrounded by his subjects
All following him, like his shadow.

Ever in search of prey,
Many trembled when they'd hear his name
Or pass him by in the hall,
Not one battle did he yet lose
No matter how small or tall in size
I'm the King, he shouted with glee
He snapped his fingers,
And the gang drew near
Their eyes following the direction
Of his finger.

Coming his way
Was a short, thin boy
As he came closer, he looked at the group
The King noticed his eyes were slanted
He raised his hand and ordered the attack
The gang jumped on him and knocked him down
They kicked him in the face and body
They grabbed him by his backpack
And dragged him over to the king.

The King punched him in the face
Blood squirted everywhere
He cried "stop, stop; you're hurting me."
The King suddenly threw his head back,
Roaring with laughter
"Beat him up again," he commanded.

Like puppets they did his bidding
The gang kicked him and punched him some more
They threw books at him
His face was all bloody as he lied still on the ground
Just as the group turned to walk away
The young Chinese boy managed to get up and run
He was hurting, badly
He said if I don't get out of here
They will kill me.

The young Freshman kept running
Until he got home feeling safe.
He was scared, he screamed and banged on the door
His mother opened the door and saw her bloody-faced son
He collapsed in her arms.
She was hysterical crying "What happened?" she said.
"I don't know Mama. I was on my way to school
This gang attacked me.
I don't want to go back to that school," he said.

"I will talk to your Uncle Henry."
"He is a Martial Arts teacher; I know he will help you."
"How can he help me, Mom?"
"He will make you strong and show you how to defend yourself
Against many."
Peter listened to his mother.
He went to live with Uncle Henry and changed schools.

For three years he trained day and night with Uncle Henry.
Practicing techniques, improving his skill.
Uncle Henry was pleased With Peter's progress;
He worked very hard
Now Peter Chin was ready.

He went back to Roanoke High to even the score
Waiting to meet the King eye to eye.
Once again the King appeared with his followers
And spied the Chinese boy
"Hey, that kid looks familiar," he said to his gang.
"Isn't that the kid we beat up three years ago?"
"Where has he been all this time?"
Peter stared back boldly at the King.

The King felt jittery
The gang began to circle the young man
Peter only had a stick in his hand.
Do or Die rang in his head
The King laughed out loud
"Get him," He shouted.
One by one Peter knocked them down
Only Peter and the King were left,
All alone.

The King lunged toward Peter
Trained well, Peter moved quickly
Giving him a Karate kick to the chest
Leaving him breathless on the ground.
There he lies, alone, humiliated and destroyed
The once upon a time
Bully of Roanoke High.
Peter turned and walked away.

Ice Cold Sweaty Beer On A Hot Summer's Day

by Miriam B. Medina (Copyright)

He was a blonde, muscular, tall construction worker in his mid-thirties,

Who had acquired muscle mass with relative ease.

Not accustomed to working in such extreme heat,

Thirst consumed him from the inside out.

Repressed anger turned his face scarlet; he wanted so badly to shout.

His tongue clung to the roof of his mouth; His chest gulped air,

He needed something cold, anything that might ease his despair.

"AH, beer is what I need," he said, "not water, that's for sure."

Beer is so unique, with its frothy foam and undeniable allure.

"Indeed, BEER is for the bold!

It slides down smoothly, especially when it is cold.

My shirt clings to me in this scorching heat,

I wish these trees would offer shade so I could crawl beneath.

It keeps growing hotter and hotter; my body screams for deliverance,

This terrible blur of a blazing sun is leaving me with such a bad experience."

To his boss he said: "I'm taking my lunch break now.

Whether you approve or disallow.

When I get back the job will be done,

I assure you I'll end what I have begun."

Off of his co-workers he mooched some bucks here and there,

Promising to bring back something to ease their same despair.

He drove around and stumbled onto a topless bar named 'Titties'.

He had been there before with one of his co-workers called Smithy.

It was the only place that was near,

And he was desperate for a cold beer.

He loved the bar; it was his kind of place,

Just the word 'Titties' put a smile on his face.

He stepped from the blazing sun into the smoke-filled darkness

Rubbing his eyes, he saw the place was still sleazy-looking and airless

He ignored the dank dark air and headed straight to the bar,

The light reflecting a path from the door that he'd left ajar.

He remembered the young women rubbing their scantily clad bodies

All over aroused men, trying to pry away lecherous dollar bills...

"I'll be damned," he said smiling to himself,

"I'm amazed at their great marketable skills."

His eyes were riveted on the new go-go dancer before him,

He found it hard to suppress his feelings, so he made his face seem grim.

She was seductively bumping and grinding, stripping to near nudity

Every inch of her body was under laser focused scrutiny.

They kept feeding dollar bills fingering them slowly inside her G-string,

A faceless guy yelled "Ooooh Wheeeee you're hotter than chili; I want you to be my wild thing!"

She opened her legs wide, scissoring them around the pole,

He heard someone else shout, "Let's share some fun times honey, let's let them roll!!"

He watched how her firm breasts would heave and bounce,

Dancing to hip-hop remixes, moving her body where it counts.

He wanted desperately to explore and savor her beautiful tits

To feel her passion burn beneath his fingertips.

He watched her intently, blood rushing into his cheeks,

He was perspiring profusely, feeling dizzy and weak.

His erection reached its climax, trying to escape his jeans.

He was suddenly awakened from his sensuous dream.

'Ahhh... ' He liked that one and wished he could give her a ride,

To consume her, inhale her, use her up and cast her aside,

But after all, he wasn't here for such fleshy fun;

Thirsty, he had wanted desperately to get out of that scorching sun

He was holding on tightly, clinging to his borrowed money,

Though he really wanted to spend it on this sweet honey.

"Hey bartender," he shouted, "Give me a cold draft beer.

With this blazing weather I'm parched and I feel kind of weird!

If you don't believe me step outside and feel the sun's rays bake,

At 99 degrees where I worked all day, making my back sorely ache.

Now I'm tired of sitting here and singing this same worthless song,

Just saddle me up a beer and make sure it's cold and strong!"

"I only have a short lunch hour with no time to waste!

I need a cold beer right now to pacify my taste.

I'm sitting here fuming with a couple of dollars to pay,

So until you serve me that frosty brew, I'm not going away!"

He sighed and he moaned, staring at the barkeep

As he waited for the bartender to serve him his beer

An annoying drunk plopped down next to him

With a hard-luck story, he didn't want to hear.

He said "F$#@" off man; I'm not here to drink to your health

or give you three cheers,

Nor am I your therapist, paid hourly to hear your woes

And watch your cheeks get flooded by bittersweet tears.

Don't ask me for money, 'cause I'm clutching on to my last penny,

Hoping the bartender doesn't remember that I still owe him myself

The go-go dancer was a big star at 'Titties', she loved the spotlight

It was where she sang Karaoke each and every night

Whenever she wasn't squirming half nude for stiff dollar bills,

She would hustle up drinks for a tip,

Some guys would schmooze her; others would give her the slip.

The construction worker's time was up; he had to get back to work

The bartender ignored his request though he needed to amend

What flaws between them still may lurk.

"Hey, bartender, I have cash. I need two six-packs and a couple of beers!"

To which the bartender finally replied,

"I've been waiting a long time, lucky me, we happen to coincide... "

"We sell the coldest beer around, just not to all.

You see my man; many patrons visit this place,

But one thing's for sure, I never forget a face.

Sorry, mate; with me, you don't have good credit,

In fact you still owe me a hundred from before!

So if you want a beer here, you might as well forget it.

Before I give you even one drop more, you best

Pay up right now or get thrown out the door."

Immediately four bouncers showed up in response to a signal,

Judging by the bouncer's physiques they weren't there to mingle.

So, empty-handed, he quickly turned and said:

"Let me out of here before the sidewalk becomes my bed!"

I need to walk out of here with dignity, to walk, not crawl.

As he passed dour nameless beer-drinkers, he cursed them all

He quickly jumped into his truck, spinning tires chewing up tar,

Putting as much distance as he could between him and "Titties" topless bar.