Poured from a singular vein.

A word in your ear the Muse whispered

Gesturing, in the poets mind towards his diary.

Moving in the direction of pen and paper

He wrote thus

A poem for the day

The world moon has gone to rest

With an azure sky, warm gentle zephyr, we are truly blest.

A lone street feline walks the blistering pavement.

All colour and creed dressed in rainbow colours

Walk the self same street.

An orchestration of bird song glorious to the ear.

Sitting beneath a mop topped sparse octopus type tree

Surrounded by snow white and tangerine coloured residences

Words flow onto a shaded white grey lined page.

Silver birds in the mile high club leave silvery trails in their wake.

Writing a splattering of words on a page

Listening back to their voices warmed his heart.

Then he thought to write on the subject of

What if there was a cold sun.

Quickly thought the better of it, sat and watched the morning burn.

(c) Chris Black. July 2018

~The Poet’s Poet~