Write On

LINES on a map,

Turns in the river,

Twists on a page,

Staying north makes me quiver.


The highs of the city,

the lows of the floodplain.

The bill in the mailbox,

absurd is the thinking.


Fixation it limits,

till the project’s complete.

I dare not slow down,

My brain’s dead on its feet.


But I stop to consider,

the freedoms in danger.

That truth and its telling,

Brings death from a stranger.


If you circle the wagons,

Or put down the pen,

If the inkwell goes dry,

The bastards will win.

© 2014

One thought on “Write On

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s