I walk home under a red sky back to my dingy apartment I strip off the garb of the trade and fall on the inviting single bed Walls close in, but I'm thankful for the large window beside my head To watch the trees To watch the birds return to their nests
Old coats seem like hanged convicts From the jagged cupboard hooks The only thing that is new is the mountain of books On my bedside, yet to read I shall pick one up on the morrow To feel coin well spent To feel the surprise - will it be thrill, joy, or sorrow?
I place my blue hardback journal on a makeshift table of cardboard box I ensure the fluorescent sleeps so I do not suffer unexpected knocks Under a tungsten fire, with royal blue dye I strike the pages with a fountain pen To mark the week as done To breathe back life into the poet again
I am thankful for all of you on hellopoetry for your inspiration, encouragement, critique -
I love to write, and I am bettered by your communion So here I am, sharing with you, my Friday night ritual