Haiku for the Weary Writer

Timely writing,

readers sift, through stories,

hungry for more.

Ideas are like ore,

extracted from solid rock,

Mine of Mind.

Fear and Doubt,

Are sold, by the idle.

I will never invest.

One million words,

is said to make a writer,

words are steps.

My little black book,

Red pen captures idea,

gold, in my pocket.

Reader. Listener.

Silent exchange of story,

a mind grows.

Writing. Cooking.

Practice.  Ingredients.

Perfection takes time.

Copyright © 2017 Zachary W Gilbert


Quill! Shed Now, Your Dust!

Book being born,

time and work yield,

story in stone.

In ten years, will I care?

I whisper my soft reply,

after the angry shouts,

pull away from my red ears,

like falling ocean tide,

after a storm.

In ten years, will I care?

Writing on pause.  For what?

Unloved tasks, given the affection,

of my bursting mind?

Writing on pause. For what?

Pending approval for one whimsical

sentence, scratched on an invisible wall?

Writing on pause.  For what?

Kids and Family?  Yes.  That, is a welcomed pause.

Writing on pause. For what?

Painted pixels, dancing and dying,

within a pre-written tale?

Yet, in a precious moment,

I escape,

My mind, soon spills upon a

blank page!

I pick up, shallow and broken


my fingers dance life,

into their hungry tale!

I smile,

because the torment of stuggle,

now is upon them.

Writing, un-paused.

Copyright © 2017 Zachary W Gilbert


Dear Writer, consider the ratio…

Dear Writer,

How many words will fall from your mind and make broken sentences?  How many paragraphs are born weak, and frail, then die within a casket of saved files, and dusty hard copies on the shelf?   Writer, what if I told you, that your 1,000,001 word would be your best one?  What if I told you, to enjoy the view from the accomplished summit of the high mountain, it takes sacrifice.  Missed steps, twisted ankles, lost breath, and half of a good day.  In the end, the final step gets to reap the fortune of earned victory.   So let your fingers dance on the keyboard until the keys are worn and faded.  When the F and J keys loose their bump, and the space bar is greasy smooth.  The elevation feet are broken, and the Ctrl key sticks from the coffee you spilled on your third edit.   For one day, upon your wall, you will hang the trophy of your published work, next to empty pens and broken keyboard.  All of your lost and dead words, will lay the foundation for the ones that live.

The war of writing will consume many words, the fortune of victory is found by sheer numbers.

  Copyright © 2017 Zachary W Gilbert


Offered Light

Writing and teaching

for the sake of the reader

for the benefit of the student,

is a golden act.

Ideas forged, molded, and perfected

may one day take flight,

like a million butterflies,

made of soft yellow light.

Drifting in the blue air,

between minds.

Eyes, and ears,

feast, and soar!

The final and true trill,

a buried treasure,

hidden in a held breath.

as readers, and students,

understand, and thus

conquer the moment.

Understanding becomes a trophy,

held in an glassy orb,

with a swirling metal bottom,

plugged in,

glowing a brilliant yellow,

over the worthy heads,

of the educated.

Copyright © 2017 Zachary W Gilbert


Haiku flavored, slice of life

Forgotten hour,

time shifts at night,

sleepy with coffee.

Hot coffee cups.

Black sweetness, gulp!

Day becomes,  better.

Letters falling

from minds sentences.

Stories, are found.

Red inked pages.

Writing in errors,

perpetual edit.

Little blue book,

for, ideas capture,

story is born.

Music in the air.

Acoustic guitar plays,

pinging waterfall.

Writers  Chair.

High back, brown, fluffy.

Body dissolves.

Copyright © 2017 Zachary W Gilbert