every time I pick up my pen.
Words take me somewhere. A medium
We all have words,
an audience, a pen, yet,
words do not escape among the
doodles, smudges and ink stained fingers.
Let your words out.
Listen—can you hear them?
Words burning as a flame,
Words glittering like a tear,
Locked, all locked in the slim pen.
They are crying out for freedom.
And you can release them,
Set them running from prison.
Himalayas, balloons, Captain Cook,
Kites, red bricks, London Town,
Sequins, cricket bats, large brown
Boots, lions and lemonade—look,
I’ve just let them out!
Pick up your pen, and start,
Think of the things you know—then
Let the words dance from your pen.