Tuesday, 29 April 2014

The Shaman's Pen



The computer sucks out his eyeballs
removes them, scoops them like a teaspoon
works a hard-boiled egg. The whoosh of
cyber connects, disconnects,
the inner him like Gollum fixated on the ring.
The virtual world draws him in until,
long lost in the dark hard-drive labyrinth,
without the ball of golden wool he cannot hope to find
the way back again. Meanwhile, the Shaman writes all day
with a gold fountain pen, draws down a fountain
of words that flow from the grey sky, the clouds, the wind, the rain,
the thunderous poppies with their violent
heads of reds and purples channelled thru brain, blood, muscles
and bone to be set free on spiral bound paper,
later, the pages, encased in a blue shell are
discovered on a walnut table revealed
in the maze of smoking torch-light, clues, maps
that lead to the Great Hall where all is renewed.

4 comments:

  1. My God, Jonathan, the imagery here.....just gorgeous, incredible......

    "draws down a fountain

    of words that flow from the grey sky, the clouds, the wind, the rain,

    the thunderous poppies with their violent

    heads of reds and purples channelled thru brain, blood, muscles

    and bone to be set free on spiral bound paper"

    ReplyDelete
  2. I'm fine on the computer until I hit Facebook, which seems to sap all the energy and creativity out of me. I've had to reach the point where I will not go to it until I've crossed all the important bits off my things-to-do list. But then the siren call is too strong to resist any longer...

    ReplyDelete

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