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Wednesday, December 2, 2015

'Twas the Night Before the Deadline

I've got a fun post for you today. I'm reblogging this from my blog Write with Fey.


‘Twas the Night Before the Deadline


Chrys Fey

‘Twas the night before the deadline when all through my writing room,
not a pencil was scribbling, not even a pen.
The books were all put away with regret,
while I hoped my writer’s block would soon end.

The notebooks were all stacked neatly on my desk,
with my next creation invisible on their pages.
My cat Rosie and I behind my computer,
had just clonked out after a long writing attempt.         

When out on the road there arose such a commotion,
I rocketed off my swivel chair to see what was occurring.
Away to the front door I ran like a jock,
yanked off the chain and jerked the lock.

The moon on the leaves of the tall palm trees;
gave witness to the blowing wind from sea.
When what to my drowsy green eyes should hover,
but a giant bookcase and eight cherished novels.                

With a beautiful fairy as lively as a lit fuse.
I knew in an instant she must be my muse.
More quick than agents her directions they flew,
And she hummed and sang their titles on cue.

Now MacBeth, now Moby Dick, now Jane Eyre, and Huckleberry Finn.
On David Copperfield, on Frankenstein, on Dr Jekyll and Mr. Hyde:
To the top of the shelf, to the top of the bestsellers list.
Now inspire, inspire, inspire all writers!

As dry pine needles before the happy parade swayed,
When they met with the writer’s block in my brain,
So up to the rooftop the path they hurried,
with a bookcase full of books and the writing fairy too.

And then in a second I heard in my thoughts,
The whispering and musing of a new story plot.
I was pondering my idea and thinking with all my might,
when the writing fairy materialized before my very eyes.

She was dressed in lace and silk from ears to toes,
And her dress glittered with diamonds and pearls.
A pile of books she held in her hands
and she looked like a goddess with a deep love of literature.

Her eyes how they glowed, her skin was like gold.
Her cheeks were like roses, her nose was elegant.
Her lips were shaped into a kiss,
And the hair on her head was as soft as mist.

The scent of peppermint lingered on her skin,
it circled me and awakened all of my senses.
She had a lovely face and two sparkling wings,
that fluttered when she walked so gracefully.

She was tall and slim, a fabulous imagine,
and I smiled when I saw her in spite of my writing trouble.
A skip of her feet and a twirl of her dress,
soon put my worries to rest.

She hummed as she danced to my writing room,
and laid the books where my cat snoozed.
Then twirling around she shook glitter off her wings
and vanished from her place in front of me.

She popped into her bookcase, to the novels gave a deserved, “Well done!”
And away they flew to spread more writing love.
But I heard her sing as she returned to her realm of creativity:
“Happy imagination to all, may you never stop writing!” ©


Kristin Smith said...

Love this poem, Chrys!! Thanks so much for sharing! :)

Liz A. said...

That's fun.

Unknown said...

Who is the girl? Looks pretty!

Huntress said...

so now I smell peppermint. LOL

In other words, Great Visuals!!

Unknown said...

Marvelous! Thank you!!!
Now looking for my own "Writing Fairy".