“Wellsprings and Wobbles”

In celebration of RR’s one year anniversary, (Thank you for the support!) I decided to post the silliest thing I’ve written recently.

Realistically, how many writers haven’t written about their desk?  The block comes, we sit, we look for something inspirational and find little.  We decide to write the moment, the setting, and see what that becomes.  In the past, this has usually become an ode to the sacred space, a letter of respectful gratitude.

The desk sometimes seems like a portal, both a wellspring of arcane knowledge, and a seat of hell-fire and quicksand.  It wants to pull you under, keep you lost within the mind, yet there, you create, there, you can bring worlds into existence.

My experience was similar, yet unique, as I believe all are.  I tried to imagine what Yeats’ desk must have looked like, what he kept there.  My desk is less than ideal, but it is highly functional.  I live in a very small, very old house.  One day, I tell myself I’ll have a nice, sturdy, oak desk.  For now, I use a card-table.  Why?  It fits in the space I have, and my not-so-expendable income does not allow for certain luxury.  My desk is neatly organized according to the specifications of my OCD, however, for all of my calculations, I cannot always account for what happens when theory turns to practice.  Simple physics turns seemingly sound ideas into travesties.  Thus, I present my most recent piece: my experience writing about my desk.

“Wellsprings and Wobbles”

Tis likely, one day,
I shall miss this desk
The card-table, bowed and pocked
My knee, constantly banging
Upon flimsy legs, causing
Lamp, near table’s-edge to
Teeter, and my pencil cup
Gravitates ever closer to
Unsuspecting elbows

One day,
I will miss this desk
The magic we created
Dreaming demons into being,
Raising kingdoms from dust
We were children, lost
In a sea of imaginings
Where all was possible
No truth was hidden
No hope, too far

Yes, one day,
I may miss this desk
But now,
With the aid of
Most unforgiving chair
It seems,
My legs have fallen asleep,
Again
And I’m not certain
If I should crawl to bed.

© M. Black, 2015 All rights reserved.

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