All that glitters is not gold

All that glitters is not gold

WOULD anyone be inspired to write books, compose music, or paint pictures if there was no one to enjoy them? Yes, I think they would. It is my belief that each of us is given a gift although many go through life without discovering their unknown ability; a great pity.

The talent to create something from nothing is a fountain of inspiration that simply cannot be turned off. It is a compulsion and with or without an audience, or hope of profit, we turn our abilities into realities.

Many people don’t believe in magic. Yet, I gaze at a blank sheet of paper. And then, by using my pen I turn it into something that enriches others more than a bank note can, I think of that as magic.

My taste is poetry, admittedly the poor man of the arts. Most people will agree that they didn’t abandon good music, art or poetry, these adornments abandoned them. I do think that verse, like music and pictures, has been debased by changes in fashion.

Following inspiration rather than fashion my pen scratches beyond the midnight hour. Did I become rich as a consequence?  Yes, I did actually; I became so rich that the materially wealthy envied me and others like me.

My poem brought a wealth of sorts to those for whom coinage has no value. It brought me a wealth that money cannot buy.


I think I just fell over, son,
I really can’t be sure;
Perhaps I just lay down awhile,
I think I’m the floor.
I wish that I was younger,
Less tired and bemused,
Why is it I fall over, son,
And why am I confused?

I think I’m close to home, son,
The steeple is nearby,
I’m just not sure what church it is,
It’s like this when you die?
If I were only young again,
And once again like you,
I lived a life as full as yours,
But, son, how those years flew.

I think I saw your mum today,
You told me she was dead,
But she helped to find my jacket,
And her lips were blazing red;
Perhaps you are mistaken,
Or did my hearing fail,
It’s hard to make much sense of things,
When nearing end of trail.

I think I’m close to quitting, son,
My God, the years have flown,
Look at you, I shake my head,
To see how much you’ve grown.
You look a lot as I once did,
So I shall never die,
I live in you, my dearest son,
And you’re the reason why.

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