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Heavy Handed Pennings

I can feel my grip on the quill
squeezing it out

thick heavy lines
shoved to and fro
splashing words
...splotches of words
...spilt over other words
piling deep

jiggling over miniscule pauses
then another spew of
blackened spittle
even before the point of it all
trickles into awarness

my twiddled tool
...between bowed calloused fingers
drools anxiously for the next bitter morsel
of grimey burnt ash
to slam down on any empty space endarken all completely as death
before running dry

Style / type: 
Free verse
Review Request (Intensity): 
I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Editing stage: 


Well written. I think all of us feel this way at one time or another. Many poems have been written about the pangs and the agonies poets/writer go through along with my own. It always amazes me how many differing way we can express it. Well done.

"If all printers were determined not to print anything till they were sure it would offend nobody, there would be very little printed. " Ben Franklin

as Rett said

A new workshop on the most important element of poetry-
'Rhythm and Meter in Poetry'

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