Clicking the pen
Put something down on the pad
I’m sad
Squeezing the pulp
Out of my brain
It’s late in this game
Please
One way ticket
On your last train
*
*
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one candle is lit
of course I write when light is just a bit
pen and paper my close friends
sometimes
I’m rattled how some poems end
*
*
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longtime
since opening the book
Jack Kerouac
The
Dharma
Bums
wow
termites sure had fun
*
*
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Please
Do not be hurt
Your work is better than mine
I just played the game
*
*
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all night with headlamp
scribbling poems among tombstones
no longer alone
*
*
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South of Equator
shoe box room
one bed
one desk
one chair
spinning ceiling fan
I’m covered in sweat
scribbling
poems
*
*
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Tap
Tap
Tap
The
Keys
Dr Pepper & coconut rum
Typewriter
Me
Deep in fantasy
*
*
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two months supply of Jasmine rice
scribbling poems next to gas stove
dust continues to accumulate
*
*
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light flickers
pen running out of ink
cockroach runs on the wall
ceiling fan spins
dust
leisurely
falls
twenty past midnight
room
smells
of
curry powder & cooked rice
one stubby pencil
I continue to write
*
*
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nighttime
is best time
midnight until 6 AM
silence
no interruptions
*
*
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surrounded by dusty books
slowly aging with me
I provide shelter
they share knowledge
lifelong friends
*
*
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20 years
I have not had a cell phone
No interruptions
*
*
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The street performer
Plays music on the corner
Completely aware
That he brings joy and despair
To the few who still care
*
*
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Every day
Ramen noodles
&
Vietnamese hot sauce
Cooked on single burner hot plate
Paranoia
Whispers
Creative expiration date
Callused fingers
Rapidly
Tap
Tap
Typewriter keys
Old rusty tool
Words
Polished into jewels
*
*
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Walking to bookshelf
Grab old dictionary for help
Most look up words on net
Flipping pages clears my head
Books will never be dead
*
*
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Garden
Wood chair
Again
Requires
Repair
We
Collaborated
On
Numerous
Poems
Together
Hopefully
Our
Relationship
Lasts
Forever
*
*
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Window shaker
Blowing cool air
Still sweating
She
Is
Aggressively
Tapping
on
Typewriter keys
Liberating
The
Venom
*
*
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He lived in a shack
Writing his poems day and night
No one read the work
Death came and the tombstone said
“Brilliant mind and tortured soul”
Robots
Devoured
Marketplace
Mass produced poetry
All that sold
Humans
Brainwashed
Read only what they were told
*
*
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cocooned in studio
decades forming clay
twisted stiff fingers
unsold sculptures
*
*
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Tiny beach hut
Leaky cold shower
Hammock out front
Island tan
Fresh fish in frying pan
Tap
Tap
Typewriter keys
Other
Days
Swim in Caribbean Sea
*
*
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Although tapping one finger at a time
Slows down my pace
My manual typewriter
Activates my creative state
*
*
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I
Scribble
Scribble
Scribble
In my tomb
She summons me for sex and food.
Working hard for my muse
*
*
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Coming into the Hermit’s library
Wife
Said
“I cannot take it any longer”
“I need to dust this place”
Armed
With a box full of dusters
We cleaned a few shelves of books
Then
She
Started sneezing
And
Needed to take a break
Saved
By an allergy attack
Until
Next time
Late night
Walking cobbled streets of Prague
Had one too many pilsners
Met a street performer
On the corner
Done for the night playing his violin
After an hour of shooting the breeze
I asked my new friend
Why is it that you are so at ease?
He replied:
“I play for spare change
I’m the only one who needs to be pleased
Some people call me lazy and completely crazy
But
Too much ambition would no longer be fun being a musician
I accept who I am
No need to try to be on top of the highest mountain”
All night with headlamp
Writing poems amongst tombstones
No longer alone
Missed my typewriter
We again together
Back to being writer
My typewriter keys
Starting to look rusty
They are still friends to me
Tap Tap Tap the keys
Rum coke typewriter and me
Deep in fantasy
Street Photographers
Silently shoot their frames of
Everyday magic
Engulfed by his books
The Hermit scribbles his poems
Before it’s too late
The Hermit Poet's Ramblings 