The Blank Page

This page is white as a white can be

Til I lift my pen and trace

A scrawl of black from an inky sac,

A tale of the human race.

I pick and choose, who wins, who lose

Their brief duet with fate,

Who twist and turn as they live and learn

To dance at my garden gate.

 

I paint in the cliffs and the sky above,

The shingle, down on the shore,

A tiny cottage that’s full of love

With a garden of herbs, and more,

A man who walks on the winding path,

He’s a difficult man to gauge,

Will he be happy, or sad, or what

When I get to the end of the page?

 

I’ll call him Clive, for he’s so alive

When he gets to the cottage gate,

His eyes are bright in the fading light

As he looks for his darling, Kate.

She hears the creak of the hinges greet

The one who captured her heart,

And races out through the cottage door,

Who am I, to keep them apart?

 

But the world is cruel and there’s always gruel

To add to a perfect tale,

I should be telling this up at the pub,

Over a pint of ale.

But I’d have to muddy my story up

To make my listeners tense,

And what does it take but a big brown snake

To add to the tale’s suspense.

 

The snake came slithering out of the herbs

And reared its head up high,

I could be mean with the following scene

As the snake bites Kate in the thigh.

But I’m only here to fill the page

Not to lay a bloody trail,

So Clive, alive to the danger leaps

To seize the snake by the tail.

 

Our hero takes the snake by the tail

And cracks it like a whip,

Shatters its spinal cord and so,

That was the end of it.

There’s a smiling face and a swift embrace

And a tale untold, for sure,

When Clive and Kate shut the creaky gate

And enter the cottage door.

 

I only wanted to tell a tale

To banish this page of white,

The page that mocks like a sly old fox

When I stare at it each night.

So take the story of Clive and Kate

Who live on top of the cliff,

And dream sweet dreams if your own life seems

Too bland, and think, ‘What if?’

 

David Lewis Paget

Reviews

[R Smith]

What if? indeed David, as you say when the hand rises and the pen descends its a world of opportunity and chance, what may come from such action as the moving pen we do not know until perhaps the end and in this instance i doubt there's anyone better than you for finding the answers, bravo :)

[Lulu Gee]

I never know where my poetry is going until I start to write. this is a wonderful tale of your muse, which I might add would be most welcome on a vacation with me as mine has gone and done a bunk !!!!

[A Soap Mess Stories]

A world of "what if?" quite a quirky tale...well written David.

[MomzillaNC]

I love this one, David! :D

[Sindu]

I read this out loud, slow and sweet. Took my time and I enjoyed this thoroughly. Ironically, I found later that I stopped myself from doing what Barbz exactly did, what I wanted to but didn't. A sweet thing, this one! Black pages, ink, paints are all that crawled all over my mind for past week so this seemed a right thing to read and savour.

[alf]

Hi David. Ah, the places we find inspiration. A blank page will do that for a poet. Loved the nonsense, alf

[Lyndy]

Wonderful piece of work! I truly love this poem. It's truly inspirational. :D

[Avinash]

This particular poem quite reveals the framework and your state of mind when you pen it down. I can vouch each character in your work has life of their own. Everyone has a role to play, may be smaller than other but nevertheless significant.

[Woody]

love this one as I did all the others. very nice of you David to allow the reader a peek at the master at work. not much else to say except hats off to the Cafe's undisputed master.

[Einstein Noodle]

:)
one of the best for sure .. each line every bit as entertaining as its preceding and following lines .. jolly good tale!! jolly good indeed .. certainly enjoy the perspectives of the teller/creator .. adds a third dimension so to speak
E.