There are parts of a whole and time undivided
A poet is more than an inkwell lost in half essence
Opposites contradictions and strife for harmony
An abundance of minutes and a scribe just the same
The nib scratches the surface and yet the fountain
Emerges from the bottomless depth of the well
When blotches and smudges refused to emerge from the pot
He utilizes festering wounds and heart blood
Treasures of hope joy and exuberant passion
Links dot to dot on canvass of words never lost
Fragments remain but he rearranged schedules
Measures rhythm rhyme and meters connections
Some call him a part time ‘unemployed’ poet
‘It’s just a hobby and foolish distraction’
Others reminded him that muse and artistic endeavour
Would not feed his body but he stomachs the pain
‘Irresponsible and insane’ yet one more accusation
A dreamer reckless idealist refusing to grow up and get real
A scriptorium can never be a half-way house and Tim is
A full slate writer whatever the say to diminish his craft
29th June 2019
Categories:
scriptorium, freedom,
Form: Free verse