Sunday, 22 January 2012

Pin prick of blood

The original was something like this.
And at the same time it was nothing like this.

It was carelessly scrawled in genuine longhand.

Laid out that way by a long-haired
fellow with a stout red pen
and a fondness for ale
and alehouse adjectives
slumped in the corner
of a dusty window
by a slow black river.

It was cunningly offered as art.
It was not double spaced
or on paper.

To the background of Mahler's 10th
on the crackly radio
the green buds of poetry
had opened themselves
and with his red-inked nib
he abandoned his verse
onto the white cardboard stiffener
laboriously removed
from the bargain shirt
with too large a collar
and with sleeves too short

- half price due to the recent demise of the octogenarian shirt shop owner
from natural causes it has to be said and the family's 50% off everything sale -

Be that as it may
the point is: Yes!
It is still possible
to pen a passable poem
on a cardboard insert
with a red inked pen
and a pin prick of blood
in such ordinary circumstances.

May it always be so.


  1. How I love this poem - what images it gives me - and how much I agree with its sentiments Gwilym.

  2. Pat, thank you. We live in uncertain times. Interesting though.


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