I have wrestled through the night after a packed church gave voice to highly charged emotions and views of guns in America. I’m asking how in the world we move forward…together…and confess: I don’t know. I just know that we have to try. But I’m weary this morning. I have no answers. This poem could not have arrived at a better time.
Nothing
I have nothing…
nada…zilch…zero…
no thoughts, no ideas,
no inspiration.
Worse, only clichés
crowd my mind:
stock images,
standard phrases,
or remembered words
wielded by real writers.
Feeling only frustration,
tempted by alliteration,
or worse, rhyme…
Theft?
Is it worse to plagiarize
than to leave a blank page?
– Steve Shoemaker, Urbana, IL Feb. 6, 2013
It occurred to me that we’re not alone.

