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Writing Desk (Prompt 4)

My writing desk is my lap.

Upon my lap rest my beloved
ink and paper. Merely items to
some, yet to me its value surpasses
that of silver and gold.

Bent over and lost in thought,
fingers absently tap to a beat
of poetic rhythm on my knee.
My desk cradles these moments.

Lip tucked pensively between
my teeth, I shuffle the papers
on my lap. These papers
which rest upon my "desk"
house the next Pulitzer.

Here in my room,
on my bed, legs crossed
composing poetry; I couldn't
think of a better place to


Sascha Cooper said...

Very intimate feeling to this poem - very much one of these poems that leaps off the page without being too over the top - simple and yet powerful. Well done!

lissa said...

I like this, paper and pen that's all anyone ever need to start writing, you reflected well your thoughts upon the pages

Anonymous said...

sascha got it right...intimate..
i can see the scene. Great job!

empty garden

KB said...

I do the lip between the teeth thing too x

Pen Me A Poem said...

As others have said, this is a wonderfully intimate poem. It's an almost maternal love for the writing that's produced on the precious paper. Lovely.


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