He sat there in the crotch of a tree
Lost in deep thought
Pen poised as if frozen.
What would be the end product?
He would be at a loss to say
Poetry, scrambled words.
Untangling, articulating, punctuating
His motivation for the present.
At day’s end hopefully he’d have a poem to present.
Never a challenge to sit and write
His place of composure
Assisted him compose.
There was a poem to be executed
Proper, not convoluted
Laid out, then computed.
(c) Chris Black. October 2018
~The Poet’s Poet~
Hear a spoken word version @
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Accompanying music to #SpokenWord –
The Banks of Green Willow – George Butterworth, Royal Liverpool Philharmonic Orchestra.