Before turning the first page.

Words are visiting the Man Shed

Legends, he thought

They move across his line of vision

Unleashing themselves.


He mops his brow, stops fretting

Time for a shot of caffine

Photographing in his mind

What it is he wishes to say.


Now his cup overfloweth

Boltholes closed

Words, lightening conductors

Lurking in all corners of the mind.


Angling for a way out

Anxious to make a statement

Being under the microscope

On top of his game

Creating memories, is what he is about

Painting a rainbow of words.


Moving through the good and bad moments

Cascading onto a blank page

Filling those gaps with poetic thoughts

He bows, bends a knee

Salutes those words which came to visit

As the sun balloons in the sky


Contented he closes his copybook.

(c) Chris Black. August 2018

~The Poet’s Poet~

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