Oh, to write words that may contemporise,

creating living imagery behind reader’s eyes.

To make spirits rise, rise past the eagles lair,

lingering in anticipation, hovering, just there.

Then with syllable, rhyme and hunters vision

dive, dive, dive on pray, gorged on indecision.

Armed with the skills of a milliner and seamstress

create a tailored pictorial order, a literary buttress,

willing to fly with the flagrancies of rich imagination,

running amok, to join and rejoin community’s nation.

To write pixel laden words, with the effects of a drug,

that will rip you limb from limb, yet heal with a hug.

Oh, to release the spirits, like smoke from a fires,

spiralling across sky’s, with wanton desires.

Perchance to wield the pen, ‘mightier than the sword’,

creating text, forever written in contemporised word.

 ©Phil Golding 10/09