A Blank Sheet

Saying I compose mentally, the words I’m 
about to type on a blank sheet in my mind 
isn’t too far from reality; when reading ‘em 
I ken its a better way t’ come to terms with 
what wasn’t even imagined, on beginning,  
vague ideas maybe, just rudimentary, old-
hat phrases too jaundiced to let out loose 
into dispossessed compassion’s redress 

but there they are - re-birthed in this naive 
bier of nascent mitigation. I’ll probably ask, 
y’all going my way, relieved the gestation’s 
a full-term event and basking in a cradle of 
stolid straw; its okay, we’ve got th’ stage to 
ourselves for the time being - so let’s play 

with scenery, create an atmosphere where 
the rules can’t interfere with us having fun; 
all we’ll define is that meanings must be at 
least clear enough to weather second, and 
third glances - with the subtlety embedded 
where literacy extends its lateral indemnity 

that’s where we’ll leave it be to mature into 
a form which will keep it safe - the glaze of 
a smooth finish habituates even sceptics if 
appraised where this filigree came from; in 
a mind’s-eye-blink it’s the creation of a fey, 
and untrammelled, latter-day revelation 
© 5 December 2016, I. D. Carswell