Write

I’m almost asleep so stop hassling me.

Write

Just look at the clock, it’s quarter to three!

Write

I’ll not be slave to the hours you keep,

Write

Still, I can’t deny images that seep -

Write

- into my bleary brain then bubble high -

Write

- to the brim of thought and I see your wry -

Write

- smile light in my mind as you start to win -

Write

- the argument, and at last, I give in.

Fingers open the book kept by my bed
Words carve the white as they spill from my head
I know, as the pen strokes reach fever pitch
Tomorrow I’ll be a bad-tempered … demon
But my muse plays conductor, she pulls strings
of creation and my head fills with things
that must be put down else fly away
for as they appear the thoughts start to fray,
unravel and vanish. But not this night
for they are captured by reading light
and fashioned to her measure
for verse is Calliope’s fine treasure.

Read

I have written the thing, now let me go -

Read

- back to sleep, I just want to flow –

Read

- to temporary oblivion. But -

Read

- I can’t deny you, your insistence cuts –

Read

- into my head: a sharp, commanding blade -

Read

- to acknowledge the verse you and I made.

Read

So sore eyes scan contrast written in rhyme

Read

Liquid phrase caught in a snapshot of time.

And I’m done. My red, blurred eyes smart and sting,
from too long spent seeing. Now night can bring
Rest to my drained body, if you’ll allow.

I’ve no problem with that… at least, for now…