She Said, He Said - Bryan Norford

What? Are you stuck at that computer again?

Yes.
 

What are you doing?

Writing.

Writing what?

I’m not sure yet, I’ll let you know when I’ve given it some more thought.

I can see. You haven’t written anything yet—you’ve got a blank page.

I know.

Well, write something. Isn’t that what you’re supposed to be doing?

Yes.

Well?

I’m not sure yet what to write.

How much did you spend on that computer?

I don’t recall.

Too much if all you do is look at it.

I know what to write about, I just don’t know how to start.

Okay, What are you writing about?

Marriage.

And you don’t know what to write? You’ve been married umpteen years.

But starting is the problem.

Okay. Let me help.

You’re not a writer.

Nor are you by the look of that page.

Alright. What do you suggest?

Write: “My wife is a better writer than me.”

No you’re not.

I’ve written something. You haven’t!

But that’s not what I want to write.

You want to write about marriage. That’s about marriage.

Oh! Okay. I’ll write, “My wife thinks she’s a better writer than me.”

Hmmm! You think “thinks” is better?

Yes. It aches for a retort. It draws in the reader’s curiosity.

Glad I could help!

Well, it’s a good start for a start. Thanks.

Footnote me! I’ll go make coffee . . .

I might change it later . . .

Just a Sheet of Paper - Sulo Moorthy

I'm just a sheet of paper
Yes, that's what I am
Plain, white and blank
That's what I look to you
Until...yes, I say until
I'm picked up,and scribbled on.
That's when I wake up
And  become alive
Alive to speak back to you
To you, the writer, famous or unheard.

Once woken up, I dislike to be put back to sleep
I love when someone beautifies me
With skill and sincerity
The tenderness a lover writes through me
Sometimes make me want to blush
And when I'm written on in a place of war
While uncertainty and fear of death throttle the lovers' souls
I become the lifeline for those two aching hearts
And probably a page of memoir for later use.

Oh, how many sighs I've heard
And how many tears have I sipped
It truly wrenches my thin sheet of body
To look upon the saddened face of my writer.

Then, there are those who write on me with so much passion
A passion that sets me ablaze
Some make me want to sing and sway my body
To the rhythm of music they write on me
If I could, I'd surely bow my head(I mean roll up the sheet)
To the prayers and devotionals written in reverence
And I beam with pride when the work written upon me
Make it to the publisher and becomes a page of a book
Script of a play, or a scene in a movie.

But, until someone picks me up
And pens me with something
I remain just a thin sheet of paper
Plain, blank and white!

(Published in Fellowscript in May 2007.)
Poets out there, bear with me for my poetry writing.