I took my pen, to write my words on air,
But found that there were others written there.
I crossed my fingers, tried the words again,
But found no ink within the blessed pen.
I took up paints, applied them to the void,
The ether crumbled, all those stars destroyed.
I sat awhile, and breathed into the dark,
My breath was wind, it lighted on a spark,
Grew to a fire, and in that gentle night,
Swept up the dust, and soon made all aright.
A contest entry
- Winklings Celebrates its 100th Contest (A Series) - Contest K by Lyndon.
6000 points, ended August 13, 2008, 12 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
1 - 6 of 6
-
I enjoyed this poem.
It is a light, cheerful poem of persistence and a desire to keep trying until that breath becomes a movement to 'sweep up' to a metaphor and a poetic crescendo.
I like the rhyming couplets although it is a free verse contest.
-
What springs to mind?
Memorable, lovely, good-humoured, delectable. Yes, these will do!
[I empty the dust pan onto a log fire's beginning and there is certainly a flare up! ]
Endearing verse. Thank you so much, poet.
-
How wonderful a write ...
reflecting not only on the art of poetry, but on the art of life and of love. Ah. So filled with hope ... for merely being alive, may bring a spark in the dark ... and all its possibilities of dreams.
Blessed be, Poet.
Myra
-
Simply lovely. You are a clever old bugger. xx
-
Excellent take on the nature of poetic and artistic creation. I like this, even though the contest DOES stipulate free verse only.
Bill
-
-
Oops!
-
Adding your comment:
1 - 6 of 6
