By Julia W. Prentice POETIC JUSTICE

To The Writer Who Doesn’t Write

By Julia W. Prentice

Call yourself a writer – Ha!
Where is the ink-blaze trail
That path from mind to mind
Blood exsanguination onto white page?
You avoid any judgement
Clutch the pages to your breast
But self-flagellation whips up a
Gale of defeat and births a
Storm of literary pitfalls,
They fiercely
Tumble you headlong over
A cliff of too few words
A writer – ‘Yes, she’s really good’
You’ve shared, and now
Devour praise like crumbs of
Bread sprinkled along that path
Nibble those few and far between
Soon sour, stale and mouldy
Starvation soon sets in
‘So you’re published?’
So what?
Write treatise, tracts and testaments
To insecurity and doubt
Penned and posted
Mailed and printed – no matter
If no one cares to read them
‘You should write a book!’
Hollow platitudes, jaded opinions
Critic cuts and red edits
Looming dread of commitment
Litany of inability

So you don’t write it
The great missive, your
Revered tome stays locked
Inside your mind
Words grasped tightly,
Smothered possibility
Trail erased
Idle pen
The devil’s due.

For more self-study, The Urban Howl recommends The Year of Magical Thinking.



A deeply feeling Cancer, Julia still has poetry from teenage years, when words were her salvation. She lives in California with her soulmate and a current furry companion. Former ASL interpreter, a passionate Peer Supporter of persons with mental health challenges. Knitter, crafter and singer. She writes like breathing: in ragged gasps, mighty shouts, half-voiced whispers. Always she is compelled to write. Finalist for 'The Poet's Billow' Atlantis Award 2015. Published in the "Temptation Anthology", "Where Journeys Meet - The Voice of Women's Poetry" and "Poetry As a Spiritual Practice - Illuminating the Awakened Woman".

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