Watching through the glass panel. Poetry from the pen of

~The Poet’s Poet~

He has all the ingredients at his fingertips

Next step, the kneading process

Onto the invisible pan, toss them skywards

Making sure to catch each and every one

26 may sound like a small number

But if you happen to drop one

25 becomes practically impossible to work with

Horror of horrors there would be more of a flurry in a graveyard

With the full complement he can add shade to shade

He can have Jack Kerouac sitting close by

Ray Charles in St. Peters Square playing piano to the masses

Uncle Sam crying into his beer following the election

Of a “president” the world did not want?

He can create any world he wishes it would have Alan Ginsberg in it.

A black panther chewing away on the bones of Father Time

Would then indicate it was time to call a halt

Lay the thinking cap to one side, take a deep breath

Slip his arms into the straight jacket and take his medicine.

He left the room, it was so quiet outside you could just about hear leaves cry.

All happening under the looming shadow of Alfred Hitchcock.

© Chris Black. March 2019

#Poetry #amwriting

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