Newbiggin by the Sea Creative Writing Group

Here I am again,
That I could write,
Slow, discomforted,
With sideways look,
The need to walk about.
I come again unto my usual place,
Head full of nothing
Save the itch to scribe once more
Vivid colours clash with crash of symbols
In long drawn pause
Memories wash in eddies,
Bright tides, that rise and fall
The unbidden urge to transcribe
In what voice?
By what rite?
Every excuse to put off the muse.
The storm too brisk,
The sky too lowering
Clouds swirl, match the dark mood
Dares inspiration make an appearance.
My gaze greeting nought
But darkening window panes
Yet still here I sit
Gazing blank on rain spattered gloom.

So I long vigil keep,
As orange glow returns to street light
But yet, beyond the stark light, a patch of sky
Golden in slate greyness
Defusing delicate crimson
Misted soft by azure blue
Glimpse of glory
An instant bright in wild wind's hurry
Washed swiftly with rain
Gone forever in storm tossed sky
Leaves a treasury of colour
Beauty deep to feed the soul with joy
Un-noted, unnoticed in the throng
A small thing so insignificant
Yet !
Had I not sat in silence.
Putting off the time for muse
Its joy would not be mine.
Let whistle wind
Rain dance
Chill fingers numb
What matters that at all in time?
Joy remains
Soft gleaming crimson
Momentarily mingled with azure blue
A fulsome blessing upon the page