Trembling fingers hover, poised above the expanse
Weathered and chapped, edges frayed and worn,
-
In a resonant harmony with the ticking clock, the letters rise
As my fingers grow nimble, setting them free,
Gliding effortlessly across the polished silver
-
The ticks, a steady pulse woven into the fabric of my days,
An acquired sound that lingers through sleepless nights,
-
Unyielding, inseparable from restless repose.
The laptop awaits, a sentinel of potential and possibility,
Craving the touch of my fingers, its eager companion,
Anxious for the symphony that emerges,
Within the dance of keyboard, 
fingers, 
and clock.

Poem Context

I wrote this in 2020 during my Creative Writing class. The exercise involved selecting a word from a box and crafting a piece around it. The word I received was “ticks.”

“Ticks” encompasses various interpretations: sudden twitches, sharp sounds, marks, or even parasitic arachnids. In my composition, I aimed to blend all these meanings into one cohesive piece.

The poem captures a poignant moment wherein a writer finds themselves seated at their desk, anxiously pounding away on the keyboard.

I explore the intricate relationship between the writer, the act of writing, and the passage of time. I capture the interplay of time, dedication, and the rhythmic cadence of writing.

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   I completely agree with you! This degree has introduced me to a world of history and culture. Thank you for…

2. 

   I hear your conundrum; I too suffer from a ‘title’ that doesn’t pay the mortgage…Beowulf, Dante’s Inferno, Canterbury Tales are…

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4. 

   Thank you!

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