Spirits tamed



My old blue fountain pen allows

The ink across the page to flow

Like wet paint from the artist’s brush,

And words come in a rush.


Enchanting through the hand which writes,

Bewitched by art, beauty alights.

The script is like a music score

Through which we pass as through a door.

Imagination’s home.


As,mysteriously to you, to me,


The spirits of our hearts are tamed,


By rhythms of pen,of brush,of mind.


They enter vision quite unplanned,


Like moths to flutter softly round


Fire joined heart and hand.




The pen slows down,the hand goes still


And just as dreams at daybreak will,


They shrink,they disappear,they’re gone.

I almost caught that one.

Please perceive me

Photo by Emily Hopper on Pexels.com

He said he  never wanted to be me again.
He asked me never to bury him again
None so  blind as those who’re on TV.
I see what you scheme
I’ll catch the late train and be stoned tomorrow
Please deceive me,I won’t know
The last chance will be a horror
Until wrath us do part.
Until the penalty’s stark
It’s better to have loved the dust
than never to have loved the balls
Men are in jars, women are in beakers