Category Archives: Old Day 19

The Poem Comes as a Dream

The Poem Comes as a Dream

Unremembered
even after the preparation:
the good scratch behind the ears,
the clawing up of bedding into the right nesting shape,
the heavy flop down into its folds,
the closing of the eyes.

And in the deep part of the night,
the poem comes, a fleeing hare
chasing through the mind,
its swift feet drumming the right rythm,
and by morning it has vanished.

Only a satisfying smell of flesh remains
in the dog’s mind.

 

Gill McEvoy

 

 

 

 

 

Inundation

Inundation

Little did you know
words were building up
within your subconscious.
Then a trickle of lines
starts to seep from your mind
through pen onto paper,
swelling into a surging torrent
which threatens to wrest
that pen from your grasp.
Don’t let go,
go with the flow.
Flotsam carried on the flood,
swept away
into uncharted waters.