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~