I sit and I scribble,

With black ink pens,

Black ink pens and scribbles,

I scribble and I ribble my single given life away.

And when I shower,

I wash the ink off my hands,

and clean the deepest paper cuts down to the ends.

It stings and it rings,

But so do my pulsing fingers

And beating heart.


She sits at a desk

with black ink pens and scribbles.

Black ink pens and scribbles.

She scribbles and ribbles her single given life away.

And when she showers,

She washes the ink off her hands,

And cleans the deepest paper cuts down to the ends.

She stings and she rings,

But so do my pulsing fingers

And beating heart.


I sit and I scribble,

With black ink pens,

Black ink pens and scribbles,

I scribble and I ribble my single given life away.

And when I shower,

I was the ink off my hands,

And clean the deepest paper cuts down to the ends.

It stings and it rings,

But so do my pulsing fingers

And beating heart.


I die with this pen in my hand,

And my book of scribbles below my head.

She dies with her pen in her hand,

And her book of scribbles below her head.

I die with this pen in my hand,

And my book of scribbles below my head.

is different for each meandering
but arises unbidden though there
must be a prompt a spring a welling-
up that begins to trickle down the page
as the current courses down this arm
to fingertips grippimg the pen lightly
but firm enough to make the marks
and trickle a stream to slake again
my thirst.  Wyre ? Ribble ? Mersey ?
Thames ? Rhine ? Danube ? Ganges ?
Amazon - yes immense over life as Amazon.

(c) C J Heyworth

Tittle tattle
ribble and rabble
The conversation goes
the way the conversation went

Fiddle faddle
dibble and daddle
every word emitted
was indeed foretold by the committed

Wrip wrap
snip snap
tip tap
Without an outstretched hand
Who is to let the movements move
like hourglass sand?

Drift on drift on but rhythm run
And timber flail with the rolling throng
What little lies in wanting yet waits
for not all waiting want doomed to rot

But wait but wait beasts heart do beat
For tragic fear and demented dreams,
Of drowned minds and blinded crowds
Of crashing hooves and shattered screams

Ribble rabble and squalor squabble
over thoughts that streak between their feet
May one grab hold and its secrets unfold
A world without waiting or babble

Lost in the big ribble rabble of hoopla
amongst the slick linebackers, spinners, and hungry hogs and sows.
Outside licking a neck, and after scraping my back, peeled apart
I showed a sort of myself that only spilled when I'm all ripped up.