THE POET AT HIS CRAFT
( Self-Portrait )
In the early morning hours, before the day awakens,
The soft scratching of a pen nib across a blank, white page
As it leaves in its wake, line after line, a trail of black words;
The rhythm now and then broken by the dip of the nib
Into the unstopped, glass inkwell waiting patiently nearby;
Upstairs in a bare attic room with a low, slanting ceiling;
The winter’s chill kept at bay by a kerosene heater.
Outside the window begins the merry twitter of birds
As the sun stretches wide its arms to embrace a new day.
Seated alone at a small wooden desk with a writing slope on top;
Bathed in the warm, intimate glow of a brass reading lamp;
Page after page of each draft falls quietly one by one,
Like bright leaves from a tree in autumn, down upon the floor,
In the early morning hours, before the day awakens.
( “The Poet at His Craft” © 2013, PoeticMeditations. All rights reserved. )