Spilled Ink
It came flowing as black as the night.
It was a river of ink,
the bottle over tipped
and it wound its way –
across the desk,
across the papers,
making a mess.
The poet saw this
and he wondered at the sight.
it was best to consider,
what inspiration this might bring.
A river of black, swirling water,
making its way toward the sea,
under a dark and stormy sky.
He dipped his pen
into the ink –
that was now at the edges,
threatening to overflow,
like a waterfall
cascading down.
Finding some paper.
he contemplated –
where the journey might come to an end.
The river hit white rapids,
heading for a waterfall.
The water went churning down,
there below to calmly begin,
its journey once more.
For awhile the storm raged,
the ripples of the waves,
tossed the boat to and fro.
Yet through it all –
the captain valiantly,
held onto the wheel.
Upon the desk ink puddles,
the river at a standstill.
In the poet’s mind,
the pen poised –
waiting for the next line.
The door burst open,
the wind whipped in,
sending the curtains flapping.
When the poet’s creation was done –
penned as he had wanted it penned,
not only was there ink upon the desk,
but also across the floor.
Over the windowsill –
many tiny, inky cat paw prints.
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“many tiny, inky cat paw prints” that image is so vivid, Rasma. I can so imagine the poet sitting there, gazing in wonder at the flowing ink on it journey to many images, composing thoughts in a creative mind. Such a delightful poem I enjoyed reading.
Thank you Phyllis.
A fun thing to read, Rasma. The imagery was great, and a wonderful picture painted in words – by the poet, and you! – or perhaps they’re one in the same.
Thank you William. It is the inspiration and the muses that blend us together.
Lovely Rasma, a simple thing turned with imagination into stories, as they were waiting to become real, waiting for the opportunity of expression. And that’s what we do as poets, seek to make a single thought a thing of beauty and consideration. great work.
Thank you Tony. Part of my inspiration came from a caricature that a friend of my dad’s drew of him. Since dad was a poet and a writer the picture showed him on a raft that was a book of poems, on a river of ink, using a giant pen to navigate.
My favorite. I love this poem Rasma. Jamie
Thank you Jamie. The inspiration came when my cat Sid tracked in with muddy paws.