Laying a foundation

He spent all his day in his chair

Vacated it when the last stroke of midnight sounded

Through rambling talk and broken dreams

He removed himself, closed the door

Contemplating thoughts of castles in the air, fantasies

Remembering as he rubbed weary eyes

Nights spent burning the candle at both ends

Labouring over scattered words

Fingering the writing implement.

Climbing the winding stair

He lay among crumpled sheets

Dreamt of the poet

Who elected to lie in the clay of Sligo

‘Under bare Ben Bulben’s head’

Poetry from The ManShed Content copyright (c)Chris Black

22/09/19