January 11th + 12th

writing cheap poetry

at the end of a weekend

head stuck in words

 

juggling stories

voicing adding verisimilitude

to an old favourite

 

plus all the corpses dressed in tartan

 

the bears, horses and witches

with all the old gods of hearth

and forest and frost

in deepest darkest, Russia

 

and so I travelled

in a sweat box

waiting for the cool change

 

dismayed when only showers

passed by quickly

 

I was only an acolyte

to showers and whirling clouds

and quick winds which blew away my cobwebs

 

still leaving the earth thirsty

my head buzzing with stories

and a pen limp in my hand

 

 

 

Copyright January 2020