[Photo Credit: Thomas Chatterton in His Garret]


used to uncover the fading word

a second or more to gather the instant

to reminisce to reflect to feel to sense

to touch to hold the new breath

exhaling life at its worst

inhaling poetry




to surpass it all again and again


I had the privilege to contribute with my “inkpots” – together with two other poems, to the April 2015 issue of The Year of the Poet, a monthly book series published by Inner Child Press, Ltd.  While I was writing down my words, I couldn’t shake off the image of the protagonist in one of my most favorite German short stories: a sickly writer in an ice cold tiny flat who relies on his last submitted work, a novelette, to help his wife and himself survive a little longer. I remember how thankful I felt throughout my processing of the three poems: thankful for my day job, that is. I still do. Can you imagine what would become of me, if I, too, was forced to make a living from selling my literary writings?

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