file under 'will never be published' (no. 5)

file under 'will never be published' (no. 5): 

Extemporaneous 

Background: I am a writing prompt addict. There. I said it again. It's still true. This was written for a contest that my friend Margo found for me. I didn't win --and frankly, I'm not surprised. I wrote it in 15 minutes (yes, I submitted something I wrote in 15 minutes, she admits, blushing at her own hubris ...).  

The process was an interesting one. It's worth trying, if you're up for it:

Start with a blank piece of paper if you're a Luddite, or with a blank screen if you're like the rest of us. Follow your thoughts from, "What am I going to write about?" all the way through to something that has a final form resembling something you would actually show another human being. Write all of these thoughts down --it can be in poetry or prose. It's worth trying, like I said. It's not necessarily worth publishing, however ...

It will never be published for the following reasons: 1) it's experimental; 2) it's poetry; and 3) it ends up as a rhyming poem, the kiss of death.

Extemporaneous

I.

White.

Soundless.

Nothing.

___________.

All the time

That came before –

Now,

Absence.

The mind,

Blank.

II.

All the colors of the room,

All the sounds and smells and faces.

The ambient temperature sours with warmth.

Fill-in-the-blank with quality, not just

Sweat in the armpits of a white tee shirt, yellowing.

All the time that came before, jumbled

And stacked into unrecognizable lumps.

Now.  Absence.  Color.  Sound.  Smell.

Sensory stimuli, overwhelming the mind with

Blank chaos.

III.

A breath.

A blank ________.

IV.

Bronzed.

The crunch of toast.  With cinnamon.  A jaw, chewing.

A cold day, warming with cinnamon toast.

Simple.

All the time that came before

Now leads to this –

The present, a gift.

Presence.

The mind,

A blank etched in bronze.

V.

The present has been bathed in gold

And cinnamon, the warmest spice –

A piece of toast combats the cold

And melts away the soundless ice,

And all the time that came before

Has led to now, a brilliant gift.

A piece of toast, and nothing more,

Allows the mind to swell and drift

And settle into perfect now –

As only golden blanks allow.