the witching hour

Witches and wizards conjure spells
To break us free from the blocks on blank pages
Goblins and elves sing a merry song
As they throw pity and shame into fire-filled furnaces
It is the witching hour
When the world sleeps
And the words should come
They don't
In hiberbation it seems they are
Leaving writers and poets in perpetual winter
Look to the children
And rediscover the world
Where colours are bright
And the grey glistens with gloss
For in the witching hour
The words must come
The blank page must be filled
The balance must be re-gained
Inspire souls once more with your thoughts
Make their hearts dance
Their eyes see
That there is beauty in words that speak truth
When life is lived in honesty

Dreamer

She lives in the foreplay of life, streaming together endless nights with beauty, her dreams are what she lives, embracing her spirit and giving willingly, I am in awe of this being, this creature of the night, this soul that lives wholeheartedly .... while I watch on, randomly ... in my dreams

A partnership

She speaks
And I listen
Without judgement
Without expectation
Without my preconceptions

Her life is hers to live
As is mine
Together we shall conquer the world
The destination is the same
But, sometimes
Only sometimes
The paths we take
Are not the same

The cost of living

I was in a supermarket the other day. The scanner wasn't picking up one of my purchases and I jokingly said to the lady at the till that it must be free. Her response, "nothing in this world is free.".

And I replied
Everything comes at a price
A pound of flesh, a bank guaranteed cheque, a money transfer or good old fashioned cash are what's needed to get by

Could someone tell me the price of a friendly smile, a reassuring touch on the arm?
How much does love cost, in its pure, unconditional form?
And the feeling you get dancing in the rain on a hot summer's day?
What do words cost?

Nothing is free
Is that the way life has come to be?

Just words

Burn down the walls of madness
Get high off the fumes
Rage against the machine
But be home in time for supper

Throw off the shackles
Drink from the well of freedom
Live off the land of your fathers
But don't forget to pay rent

Be free
Live with hope
Pursue dreams
But always remember to drive on the right side of the road

Retreat

She retreats delicately
I watch in silence, reluctantly
Do I speak or let her go

Pain

The voices have been silent
The muse was in hibernation
And I
I linger on the edge of words
Their sharp sides slicing the tip of my tongue
Reminding me that they shall still be heard
Whether in pain
Or at the nib of my pen
As it randomly scratches between the lines

Writer's block

Can one forget how to write
Blocked for forever
What do you call it
When the words scream never
Again