Writer’s blocks

At the height of new thoughts

There are times when I don’t know the right thing to write,
I have no fresh ideas, though try as I might.
I try hard to share topics that come from my heart,
But it’s not always obvious where I should start.

When I’m thinking, sometimes, there are too many thoughts,
They get jumbled and mixed up and tangled in knots.
So I turn all these thoughts into blocks that are small,
I then take all these blocks and start building a wall.

Then I climb to the top in the search for a clue,
I see clearer up there, it’s a much better view.
But the thing I must tell you, whenever I climb,
The results alway seem to transition to rhyme.

Today I looked out from that wall for direction,
But instead what I saw was a mirrored reflection.
“Aha!” I exclaimed, “I know just what I’ve seen!”
I’ll recount my own tale, it’s the tale of Phil Bean!

With my parents, my brother and our little pup,
In the small town of Milton is where I grew up.
A quaint little town, where I had lots of friends,
I miss them as I reflect back through this lens.

I attended my schooling the usual way,
Mais j’appris mes etude en l’ecole en Francais.
I enjoyed playing baseball through most of my youth.
With dreams of becoming the next great Babe Ruth.

I then played in band, for a number of years,
Getting up on that stage helped me concur my fears.
Using music, or food or through laughter and play,
I would share my expressions and not shy away

Then I found myself lost and I needed to find,
The true meaning of ‘me’, buried deep down inside.
So in search of belonging I scoured the Earth,
And I challenged my knowledge, improving its worth.

I travelled to Nashville and North Carolina,
To, France and to Dawson, to Rome and to China.
But to travel does not mean you need to go far,
The expanse of our province is quite the backyard!

A great place for camping and climbing and hiking,
Or even just walking a trail or go biking.
It is getting outdoors that makes me so happy,
No matter the weather, unless it is crappy.

And canoeing is something that I like to do,
I can hold a canoe on my shoulder can you?
But my wife can do better, now that sure is true,
She can carry one walking in high-heeled shoes!

We were married at camp, in two thousand thirteen,
Out at Camp Quin Mo Lac, wed team Hendricks and Bean.
A party was had, all the ladies and fella’s,
Danced all through the night to the tunes of Strumbellas.

What else can I tell you and what else matters most?
There’s not much you don’t know from a previous post.
I suppose I could tell you I listen to jazz,
And I like to wear clothes with a certain pizazz.

On a similar note I am quite fond of socks,
I have many cool patterns, like bright Lego blocks.
But I don’t ever wear them with sandals or crocs,
Oh, the mocks and the shocks to wear crocs with blocks socks!

I would talk about work but it does not define,
The true person I am, and so, some other time.
But I studied in Barrie, then moved onto Guelph,
Then we came to Elora, my wife and myself.

Now a father of two unbelievable girls,
They both teach me each day brand new things in this world.
And I’ve got the best friends, some are near and some far,
I can’t name them all here but they know who they are.

As for family, both born-in, and the extended,
They’re sincerely superb, stupendously splendid!
As I write this I know that I’m lucky, you see,
Because those I love most, they accept me for me.

But enough enough, I’ve gone on long enough.
I admit to keep rhyming this tale has been tough.
Though my story’s not over, no, not even close,
I just touched on the parts that had surfaced the most.

So in closing what else could I possibly say?
Just perhaps one more thought as you head on your way.
Many goals will be tough, and their paths not that clear,
Since that is, after all, how this post started here.

See a writer who’s blocked isn’t writing at all,
But could use all those blocks and could make himself tall.
The perspective then changes, as he stand up high,
And the words start to flow, once he give it a try.

I admit that it seems like a strange metaphor,
But from strangeness is where new ideas can form.
For myself, it is better than just giving in,
And accepting defeat long before I begin.

So when I cannot find a new topic to choose,
And which phrases, and wording and letters to use.
I take all expectations and tear them apart,
Then begin where it makes the most sense: at the start!

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