Of another time.

As night time falls, during a writing break

I sit with just my thoughts

At my table of words

We do not speak to each other.


Filling my pipe, striking the match

Relaxation hovers over me

In silence I smoke my pipe

While a fox nearby raids a hen house.


The inner relationship I have with

Thought, pen and paper

Far out weighs the relationship

Of farmer and fox.


After readying the pipe it is again

Time to plan another attack

Back to the drawingboard

Strip back words written, taking no prisoners.

(c) Chris Black. June 2018

~The Poet’s Poet~


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