Did someone say something about a torrential downpour?

And I consider the love story set in Niagara and I consider the memoir of the morning 
In Manavgat but to write directly to a theme is the mark of an amateur and I am trying 
To be a pro or at least be mistaken for one so I want to write something literary and worthy 
And fit for a place beside others of that ilk but I don’t have it in me I just don’t have it 
In me I just don’t possess the skill and craft and ideas and imagination and I don’t know 
Where they are and I don’t know if they deserted me or if they weren’t ever there because 
It would be just like me wouldn’t it to fall for the illusion in the pool and so I don’t write 
About Niagara and I don’t write about the Manavgat and I move onto popular music and pen 
Something about TLC warning us not to chase them and Coldplay claiming that every 
Teardrop is one but two song-references later that river runs dry so I scribble lines about 
Seascapes and oceans and soothing and tranquillity and cascades and cleansing and 
Purification ablution power force and then abandon those workshopped words because 
They are not mine and they belong to others with better generative abilities than I and I 
Am a thief and I am a fraud because all I did was wait at the cliff’s base and gather 
What dropped from their lips and flowed through their fingertips in a basin sat on my lap 
Because I am empty empty empty and drained of all that is good and original and useful 
And I am filled instead with pain pain pain and shame regret frustration sorrow grief fear 
Self-recrimination and I am all raw-nerved and stress-sharpened and I am all pissed off 
At damned-loud tattletale birds that don’t let me think and I am not the waterfall but the 
Rock beneath having my solidity eroded by its never-ceasing movement over me and so I 
Locate a blank page and mind-map drowning and bursting-dams for Water and from-grace 
And going over-the-edge-and-crashing-onto-boulders-below for Fall and cut-my-writer- 
Exterior-open-and-you-will-find-it-hollow for the / in the middle and do-my-tears-count? 
For the whole.

The story behind the poem

This was written in a workshop with the theme of Water/Fall, after listening a soundtrack of a waterfall in a very noisy jungle. Workshop writing is the best, isn’t it? 🙂