UNCLE CLYDE PONDERS

One night I was up all night trying to write some kind of nonsense story and was doodling on the paper while trying to think up something [without the doodles this is what evolved] I hope you like it. Love to all uncle Clyde.

When notes won't provoke words of wisdom woe or wonder, while wishing waves would wash ashore. Wasted words wafting wildly within waiting only to be penned.

Worlds of words ebb and flow, why I can't write them I wish to know. Why they fail me I cannot tell. Willing and waiting, with pen in hand waving and wobbling and wiggling around. Sounds of silence all abound.

Webster's wonders are aground, not one single thought can be found, no prose or poetry written down, drowned with doubt, dull and drab, dawn has doused me with its light as I debate which way to take, as I meditate upon my fate, fickle and frivolous, frail and frayed, fancy phrases pose a plight. perhaps putting pen and penciled out to pasture, poses promise of pure delight as I turn out the light, pondering promise pounding within, but what the heck, Trying to put on paper in a coherent manner the thoughts that surge, through your mind is often a very frustrating experience, about the only thing I can relate to it is a swarm of butterflies in a strong breeze, they flit one way and flutter another, getting nowhere. As you sit staring at a blank sheet of paper that only reflects back at you, the void of your empty thoughts flaunt you for your inability to capture any of them.

Meanwhile the paper remains blank and your thoughts swirl through your head like the dust devils of March, should I write about the paranoid parakeet or the schizoid cat, or should I put them in the same story? Maybe I shouldn't write about animals at all. Perhaps I could tell something about the neighbors or how about that old Ford pickup, maybe even that old Chevy that I bought from the junkyard! No, I'm not in the mood for that kind of stuff. Perhaps I should write about a blank sheet of paper. It appears to be the only thing at the moment that catch and hold my attention, as I pour another cup of coffee at four in the morning, trying to sharpen my mind. whose thoughts are as keen as a wet noodle, hey that reminds me of poodle... Naw, I have already told that one, Ok dummy just sit there and drink your coffee, it will sour on your stomach and that will sour your disposition, so when wife awakes in a little while and comes to check on you, then you can growl at her. You know then you might have something to write about after all. What a crock! Speaking about a crock why don't you tell about that old crock churn that your mother had. What the heck is exciting about an old churn?

Five in the morning the five thirty, and the paper is still blank, well, except for the doodling that is, someone should write a book about them, now that sounds about as exiting as shaving with a dull razor.

Write something down, just anything that comes to mind and maybe something will develop from that. Yea, it did, I put the pen to the paper and the paper fought back, can't say I blame it. Nothing or nobody likes to be filled with junk. It is almost six a.m. now, your coffee has gotten cold as your mind and before you know it some well intentioned fool is going to come through that front door and exclaim in such a cheerful way it's a beautiful day! Then two fools part mad at each other. You say well he started it some consolation in that, huh?

Here I sit all broken hearted all my thoughts have departed, for some reason I can't get started, all my thoughts are distorted I wonder why I ever started, time has come and time has gone, while only ignorance lingers on. Mind and matter are all sheered, pens and pencils are all scattered. picking patterns of phrases, peer past putting on paper, perhaps another period will prevail when printed prose will provide proper passages, chaste and tried but for now I will pass it by.

Mismanaged meditation mingled amid mongrel messed up messages malign my muddled mind meanwhile marvelous melodious master meaningful ministering manifestations meander mournfully missing mortified mistaken masses making mauled messed up millions melded mainly by moldy moth eaten money mistaking momentary mirth and merriment for motivating methods moving more malcontent merchants of madness misconduct and mischief more menacing monopolizing manipulating misrepresenting municipal magnates ministered mainly of monstrous mysterious malignant minds making martyrs of many and murderers of more. Meanwhile making movement of mercy and mildness of men morally motivated mature movers using masterly messianic missiles making missionaries mindful of malnourished misfits marching meaningless mooching morsels mongrels missed. Mission milestone met making ministers much more mean full mends minds messed up by majority. [Just doodling].

Love to each uncle Clyde, A. K. A.  Will George.

By-by.

© Copyright, Clyde Godwin 2001-all rights reserved.

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