Thursday, July 17, 2014


My notepad, my canvas,
My pencil, the acrylics,
As I tousle and touch,
I pan it like a critic.
Words, in excess as they flow,
At times can’t be stemmed,
Once in a while, I hem and haw,
For at least a line to be penned.
As I step back and view,
The filled up lines in the page,
Gratification washes over me,
In which, I revel and engage.