(c) 2018 Edward York
My laptop sits on a fold-out table,
My hands rest on the keys.
I sit quietly in my easy chair,
The table is right above my knees.
A journal full of notes nearby,
With a pen that sits on top.
When the story flows inside my head,
I just can't make it stop.
Music plays softly in the background,
And fills the otherwise silent air.
Through pages, I traveled a thousand miles,
But never left my chair.
I took some sips from the glass nearby,
The iced bourbon is my drink.
It soothes and also relaxes me,
And it usually helps me think.
Sometimes the words all flow out fast,
Sometimes they move too slow.
I have captured ten thousand words on screen,
Only ninety thousand more to go.
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Author:
lasergraph (
Offline) - Published: May 3rd, 2018 14:24
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 40
- User favorite of this poem: Accidental Poet.
Offline)
Comments5
A thousand poets hard at work
Within their writing den
Coaxing words from a muse
Like the ink from the pen
Like many before us
We sit searching our thoughts
To describe the passion
The perfection we sought
You seem to know me so well Ed.
It is why I come here; to be around kindred spirits.
And kindred spirits we are Ed. A brother from another mother.
Well said , Ed!
Great write Edward, even at our age there are so many words still to be written.
My preferred drink is a good Scottish Malt such as Laphroaig Triple Wood.
I actually drink whatever is handy. I had a nephew who got in trouble and put on probation. He wasn't allowed alcohol so he gave me the gift bottle of Crown Royal to keep for him. He will someday learn that was a mistake.
A fine write laser. You'll soon get there. Just use 20 words when 5 will do - like I do! heehee.
I have been know to extend things for effect. I bend a few literar4y rules to make things work.
Great work Lasergraph
Must have been the effects of the bourbon
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