The Closet Writer
The lamp glowing at his desk
Looks on silently as he goes on
Words which fell from empty space
Emerge from the shadow of his pen
Fragments they were before his touch
Gave them the elixir of life

Seething anger, searing passions,
Deadpan humour, melancholy strife
Image conjured in obscure confines
A canvas sprayed by his lines.

Strewn around the table, they lie
Plots funny, macabre and bizarre
Some trashed in the bin
Others put asleep in the drawer
Waiting to be discovered some time
Diamonds dispersed in a coal mine.


“Look Mama, there’s a hole in the sky”
Sheer joy enveloped his eyes
“There’s so much more I see,
A snow white horse on a galloping spree.”

“Now don’t let him idle away,
He needs to learn his ABCs”
So they packed him off to school,
Didn’t matter that he was just three.
Letters and numbers in a careful hand
slowly replaced a scrawling freehand.

Months later she asked him again
“Son, what do you see in the sky?”
Johnie looked up and said, “Nothing Ma,
Just a few cottony clouds, all plain and white.”

Shadowed by the sun
Collective brilliance
adorning the soot-filled skies
We need you to lessen the night,
and form little bears
or vaguely etched hares
with your blurry light

Lurking far behind the sun,
you shimmer together all as one
But hurry, soon the sun will smile
draining all you stars juvenile,
banishing you to a daily eclipse
Goodbye glowballs,
you were all bright
Now your grin has withered away
paled by the yellow orb’s light
No fault with your flame or fur
The sun’s just way too bright.