I've read that opinions are like assholes ... everybody's got one. Here's mine. ( Ahem, my Opinions! Not booty!)



My creative juices,
Seem stuck inside;
Of what? I can’t tell yet.
So - I’ll seek while they hide ...

Have they stewed on the stove,
And been jarred with the jellies?
Are they shelved in glass vases,
With collections of shellies?

Fermenting in barrels,
Made of fancy old oaks?
Preparing to age,
And be drunk up by blokes?

Are they zippered in bags,
Mixed in with lunch snacks?
Getting banged up and bruised,
In kiddie backpacks?

Are they stuck in those packs,
With the silica beads?
Praying and wishing,
To one day be freed?

Are they trapped inside
Of a bubble wrap dot?
Hoping a finger will
Soon make them pop?

Are they sour they’re lost?
Towards me, are they fickle?
What if they’re stuck,
In a jar of dill pickles?

Are they floating above us,
Trapped in a ... Balloon?
Will they drift up so high,
They end up on the moon?

It’s possible (I guess),
That they’re up in my brain.
But until I can find them ...
I sure won’t feel sane!