Writer’s Block

Whirling, spinning,
the whirlwind roars,
challenging all before it.

A churning mass,
built of sorrow, of loss,
of hope, and of joy.

The tugging of heartstrings,
being pulled by something,
something not felt in ages.

Spun around a spindle,
made of pure emotion
and life.

Can you tame the whirlwind?
Can you ride the tempest?
When your heart is being torn,
Swirled into oblivion,
can you master the storm
before it consumes you?

Rolling on, the sea swells,
tossing, turning,
an unsettled surface,
leaving you adrift.
Tempest tossed,
the ship tumbles,
spun and battered
by the shifting currents.
Uncertainty rises,
removing equilibrium,
upsetting the balance,
and bringing the sea to dry land.
Confusion,
Frustration,
Fear,
Change.
These are the voices,
that cry in the depths of the soul.
Leaving the mind befuddled,
and lost.
When the heart cries out,
begging for stability,
the deep currents of displacement
upset the ship of the mind.
And toss it,
leaving certainty in its wake,
and setting the soul to doubt,
even the strong grow queasy.

Greenery abounds,
Damp heat nigh unto steam-bath;
Florida Summer

Kudzu envelopes,
winding through trees and bushes;
Covering in green.

Summer storms approach
thunder rolling across skies,
grey with sound and fury.

The jungle was steaming hot, with the trees covered in vines. A lizard sunned itself on the side of a large tree, bathing in the heat and humidity. A small insect caught its’ eye, and it turned slightly, lining up to catch its prey.

As it crept closer, there was a crashing sound in the forest, and it grew closer, quickly, along with an incoherent yell of pain and frustration. The lizard darted away, meal forgotten, as a figure tumbled down the slope above the tree, smashing to a halt against the base of the tree, where it lay in a heap, smoking slightly.

There was a groan from the heap and it slowly unfolded itself to reveal a man, clad in the remnants of a leather jacket and a charred, battered hat. He stood up slowly, pulling his hat off his head and gazing sadly at it.

“I go through more hats,” he said, poking a finger through a hole burned clear through the brim. Shrugging, the man put the hat back on. He dusted futilely at the jacket, succeeding in only getting his hands dirtier than they already were.

He looked back up at the mountain, shaking his head at the path of broken branches he had made. He turned, facing down again, and started working his way through the trees. After a dozen steps or so, he stopped, patting at his pockets.

“Dangit, I lost my pocket watch!” He looked back up the mountain, then back down at his battered appearance. “Maybe I’ll get a new one. That one never did keep time right.”

He continued picking his way down the mountain, smoke still rising slowly off of his hat and jacket.

**Previously**

“You’re mad, Scott! You’re talking about climbing an active volcano in search of a stone tablet that experts don’t even believe exists for fun?”

“Well, when you put it that way, it doesn’t sound so fun. But think of it this way, Ezra. What better way to prove that I’m right about aliens visiting Earth long ago than by finding the proof of their existence? The Tablet of Gal is the proof that I need. Besides, you’ve been saying I need a vacation since I started my…how did you put it? ‘Damnfool Crusade.’”

“I meant away from work. You’ve obviously been working too hard, and now you’ve come up with this crazy idea that aliens visit the Earth regularly. How can you believe that tripe? It’s not like we’re living in some Astounding Magazine article. Besides, traveling to South America isn’t exactly the safest thing to do right now.”

“Even with the war going on, traveling to Peru is perfectly safe.”

Ezra snorted, and picked up the newspaper. “Look. A Norwegian freighter was sunk by a Nazi U-boat near the Panama Canal last week! Why don’t you just go visit your parents in Toledo and be done with it. I’ll even clear it with the Superintendent for you.”

Scott laid his briefcase down on the desk and popped it open. He removed a fat envelope and waved it under Ezra’s nose. “I already have my tickets. I’ve gotten permission from the Peruvian Government, and I’m already packed. I’m going.”

He put the envelope back in the case, closed it, locked it and reached over and picked up his hat. “I appreciate your concern. But I leave Monday. Keep an eye on my section for me, will you? I’m not expecting any deliveries, but make sure that the guards don’t eat in there.”

Ezra shook his head and sighed. “Very well. I’ll keep an eye on things.”

Scott nodded, and reached out and shook Ezra’s hand. “Keep it clean. I’ll be back, and there had better be no dirt in there.” With that, he pulled on his coat and left the museum.

Moonlight across wavelets,
cold breeze blowing.
The scent of the sea,
strong in the air.
Sunbeams on pine needles,
clear mountain air,
sunlight warming,
birds sing to the sky.
Blacktop shimmering,
tires humming,
road noise, engines,
the joy of the drive.
Sunlit poppies,
gold over green
glowing warmly,
inviting rest.