Jim Trainer

Posts Tagged ‘writer’s block’


In Being A Poet, Being A Writer, Jim Trainer, National Poetry Month, poem, Poetry, THIRTY FOR THIRTY CHALLENGE, WRITER'S BLOCK, Writing on April 21, 2015 at 7:01 pm

I’ve been doing this for twenty years
but only the last 5 in earnest, that is
as a working poet, that is
one who works the keys every day
everybody knows the muse is fickle
and anybody who’s ever stared at a blank page
it’s madness and folly
pulling things out the air
seeking communion with all you lost
maybe there’s some love back there
maybe there’s a purple in your blues
you ain’t seen before
it’s a strange gig and I’d be
hard pressed to describe
the sense of victory you feel
when you nail it
or the way seconds pass like cinder-blocks
when you can’t write at all


In BIRDS, National Poetry Month, poem, Poetry, THIRTY FOR THIRTY CHALLENGE, WRITER'S BLOCK, Writing, WRITING PROCESS on April 16, 2015 at 4:26 pm

there’s a cardinal out there the color of rust
she’s busier than the others, I see her quite a bit
and I like her just fine
the grackle always seem to be having meetings
they weave and bob in a loose circle
until one of ’em gets upset
meeting adjourned
the mourning doves are loners
I can only hear one of them out there
which, as anyone knows, is too many
there are the starlings all lackluster
varying between spot and speckle
or how close to gold their yellow
the bluejay must be the most temperamental
maybe it’s his military hair cut but
he seems to be marshaling the events of the day
yelling out occasionally for reasons unclear
and the redbird, the cardinal, has found a way
to steer clear of all the drama
rocking in his own corner of the shade somewhere
all this I can see from behind the beautiful machine
I’ve engineered it so I can see out there while typing
and it’s a slow day, at the office, nothing blazing through
no poems, no stories, the kind of day that stops some writers
before they even start
but that’s how it goes
somedays you’ve got to pull yourself through
sit down and type anyway
stare out the window at birds
waiting for inspiration or the white-eyed vireo.


In Jim Trainer, National Poetry Month, poem, Poetry, Writing on April 11, 2015 at 10:48 pm

“I’m going for a beer.” I told her.
But I don’t drink. When I got to
the bougie store I kept walking.
It began to rain. I took a right at
3rd, took 3rd to where it ends at
the tracks. Took the tracks behind
the condoes, crossed over Lamar.
I came back up 5th, re-crossed
Lamar. There was a squatter punk
sitting there playing “Cold Water”.
I passed the clubs, the alley,
turned right on 8th. I climbed the
fire escape and got in. She stood
in the kitchen in her painter’s shorts
with a brush in her teeth staring at
a very blank canvas. “You too?” I
asked her but I wasn’t really asking.