A Pen, A Page, A Mic, A Stage

Kind of writing about the process of how a poem goes from, well a pen and a page to a mic and a stage.

A Pen, A Page, A Mic, A Stage

 

A pen, ink at the ready, yearning to touch down to create the next great flow,

Hand shaking, trying to form feelings into a poem,

A gunshot rings in my head and the pen dives down,

Black ink getting darker as the lines get longer,

 

A page, white lined with blue, dares the pen to make something of itself,

The page goes for a spin on the desk leaving the hand that had once pinned it down

Until another explosion transforms target to canvas,

And words tattoo the page

 

A mic, glaring from a stand, daring me to step up and tame it

I hear voices echo through its diaphragm, reverberating through my dreams, others dreams, voices that have been and will be

But tonight, it’s mine to tame

Grabbing the mic by the throat, I glare back at it

 

A dim stage, I walk across long wooden boards

The tamed beast in my hand

The life I breathe with a pen and a page and a mic and a stage

The room falls silent waiting to see what I uncage