His life flows like ink from his fountain pen, He wears his hat at a more jaunty angle He knows he is in the wrong stanza |
. |
The Writer Aged by Martin Porter
Filed under Martin Porter
His life flows like ink from his fountain pen, He wears his hat at a more jaunty angle He knows he is in the wrong stanza |
. |
Filed under Martin Porter
Like this on a couple levels — as a fountain pen abuser and as consumer of fine writing.
Some of them just crumble, others warp in the sun, sometimes the stress on the nib leads to cracks, or the tipping just wears away.
Thanks for this, enjoyed it a lot.
Loved this. Beautiful.
Love this “it is the readers who create the character” and “time’s fine nib.” Actually, quite like the entire poem. Peace…
This is an exceptional piece! And it hits a bit close to home.
Thanks to all for your comments, I very much appreciate them. This piece was a huge pleasure to write and allowed me to indulge in the joys of fountain pens (yes, they are great to use and I don’t use them enough) and explore my own relationship with the reader. So, once again, thanks for coming along to the party.
Pingback: Week #51 – Unintended Consequences | 52|250 A Year of Flash