The Blank Page (Portrait #9)




Full of space, it invites your wishes to be written down upon it. Then, as soon as you jot or type something within its parameters, it looks back at you and tells you more about what your wishes then you knew. A rectangle of entanglement, trouble and love within borders, the space is…

It lulls you into a sense of control, then lets loose your words, out, into an area larger than infinity. One little word or sentence stubs your toe or swells your head. Most likely both, leaving you in a state of ogre, the state is…

Ogre. They eat humans and your words are eating at you. Ogres carry large spiked clubs, a metaphor for your pen. You pound your club/pen onto the blank page, into pulp, poetry, and snarky snippets. Look at what this writing space has done to you! You are…

You wake up the next day and begin to think you have gotten it under control. You’re human again. Hey, you’re a writer. It’s tempeh and rice, it’s tofu and garlic, it’s a bowl full of kale. You wash down your normalcy with a nice local cabernet. But, the blank page is like a stomach growl, because some little word or phrase gets stuck in your ogre gut. You then hear the words that start it all, that little gobble, gobble in the back of your head that says, Wild Turkey, pot roast, and pie. Fat is….

The blank page is an empty dinner plate, bone white china. You are searching for when the fat lady sings. She has tendency to sing loud. It’s all about finality. About knowing where to place a period. You have double-spaced, with 12 point font and still the rectangle filled with your thoughts, squirts from under your lucid typing and splatters upon the eyes of the most interrogative reader. The reader is…

You, the blank page, full of space, wishes written upon it.



15 Comments on “The Blank Page (Portrait #9)

  1. An insightful metaphor on the human comedy. Each day we all must face a “Blank Page” .
    Your passion with words, revealed it. Well Done !


  2. Damn those blank pages always getting writers in “the danger zone”. Perhaps the danger zone is where we all feel most alive


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