~The Poet’s Poet~
I’m watching you the word from afar came through
Like a hand lifted by a distant friend
Ink made its blot upon a virgin page.
He was mesmerised, feeling the cold
Breeze in from the sea, he put the squeeze on the pen
Squared his shoulders, lit his readied pipe
Realised instantly as the poets eyes peered through a smoke haze
This was never going to be an antiseptic landscape
The Man Shed walls were not going to close in on him
This team of man and pen, the perfect crutch for each other
Were not going to give a lunchtime lecture
Rather they were in a roundabout way
In this museum of words where no boundaries existed
Creating a poetic landscape to be viewed near and far.
© Chris Black. March 2019