I recall the many crumpled pieces of paper
It took to complete a single thought
The noisy typewriter and the worn out erasers
Would petition me to bring an end to their plight
As I would push myself away from the desk
Trying to get some rest before morning light arrived
The ash tray left smelling up the room with the remains
Of a pack of cigarettes smoked down to their filters
Yellow fingers and bad breath drenched in nicotine
Were the end result of hours and hours of self examination
It was a struggle to write anything back then
Let alone something to leave behind for you to read
There's a greater tightness in your writing these days Ted... an effective punchiness that gives it more strength I think. I like this a lot.. and a little later got to know much too well the territory you were crossing then... jim
I received that email too! ! ! ! ! ! ! But I like your write better.
A surprising delight some poems just get to me. Great ending also.........
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Ted, jogged a few memories for me. Well written piece. Ian