New Ink

20131001-164524.jpg
It’s odd to think
my magnum opus lies
in liquid form
before my eyes.

Strange really when you think about the relationship between the ink, the pen and your brain and how they must be in harmony for ideas to germinate and escape across the virgin page.

At the start of every new notebook I am reminded of the closing lines to my favourite poem by Seamus Heaney, “Digging” a piece about his father. The poem ends….

I’ve no spade to follow men like them. Between my finger and my thumb the squat pen rests. I’ll dig with it”.

And that also reflects my style of writing, I’m not blessed with the ability to just write, my “poems” are well and truly dug out of the myriads of edits that litter my notebook.

One day I might just get it right.

[c] D. Archer. October 2013

White Star

Akin a cageless mockingbird
after she bathes she sings
to a room full of reminders
where our horizon met its end and
an endless grey sky now begins;

You who loved as a verb
you who loved until it hurt
How can I not think of you
as I hold your eponymous pen
and feel the gravity
of her black skinned,
white starred curves.

© D. Archer May 2012