Sunday, October 13, 2013


  A little before dawn he’d sit and muse,
  reclining in his half-cocked easy chair,
  his lamp unlit—attent to inner views
  until a phrase emerged from who knows where
  that set him on his way: he lit the light,
  a low-watt bulb by his left hand, his pad
  upon a lapboard, his pen held in his right,
  knowing that now he’d go a little mad—
  the cork was out, his brain began to fizz,
  and efflorescent images appeared—
  were they from somewhere else or were they his?
  But then the spell had passed, his mind was cleared
  and he looked at the page with wondrous awe
  amazed and in delight with what he saw.