3rd Annual Poetry Challenge, #13

Friday the 13th!!! This probably calls for some silly horror-type poem. I dunno. When I think of stuff like that, I'm reminded of what I think was my fisrt ever forray into the land of poetry, back in the 5th grade. We had to write something of a story for halloween, and I wrote this poem - well, collection of rhyming couplets, anyway - that was, for a 5th grader, decently impressive. It's funny, but I remember how it was created. I put a sweatshirt over the lamp in my room to direct the light, and it set a mood....the words took over from there, and it just spilled out onto the page. I tried that again over the next few years, directing the light to inspire my creativity, taking my cues from it. Who knew that 25 years later, I would find myself still playing with words? Part of me wishes I had that piece now, and I'd share with you all, but alas, I think it went the way of the dodo a LONG time ago - probably for the best! But - this tiny little anectdote can serve for a little inspiration for today's poem, I think!!

The Writing Room

The room is dark already,
faux-wood panelling on every wall,
it bulges out in places
where the nails have come loose
from the horse-hair plaster.

Heavy pine shelves host
rows of National Geographic
only liked for their photos.
The light is shrouded, dim beams
shining down on a black-and-white
desk.
There sits a boy, taking a first step
to opening the world,
his pencil sharp as the light leads him.
He only knows he cannot stop until it's done.

The words,
the light,
the moment,
the now,
the world,
the work,
the idea - yes, the idea!

And in this space,
a darkened room in the farmhouse
at the end of the sidewalk of a
nowhere town,
a Writer begins.


Thanks for reading,
The Fat Kid