I am the Writing Man

A free-verse poem inspired by my grandfather who was an excellent poet.

I am the writing man

I write with vividity and verbosity

And the poets fear me and the authors are afraid

And they tremble in their boots when I arrive

 

When I spill my words I spill cigarette butts

Onto the page of tarry black metaphors

But I keep on going and going and going

Until my coffee gets cold and my hand gets hot

 

Pen to paper and words come out

And I write all night and I write

Until the sky is violet

And when the sun comes up I don’t come down

 

When I do come down my hands cramp up

And I don’t look back

And I keep going

And I write and I write

Until the big hand goes round the clock two times

 

Finally I finish and I sit and reflect

And look at my work and think to myself

“I am the writing man”

 

I am the writing man