The Scribe in the Woods

The Scribe in the Woods

A hedge of trees surrounds me, a blackbird’s lay sings to me, praise I shall not conceal.

Above my lined book the trilling of the birds sings to me.

A clear-voiced cuckoo sings to me in a grey cloak from the tops of the bushes.

May the Lord save me from judgement; well do I write under the greenwood.

-Ninth Century, Old Irish

Writing Rock Talk

Writing Rock Talk

By Brian Ernest Brown
6 June 1991

The wind rocks
the trees to talk
as I sit on the rock
colored with chalk
of loves crock
now we talk...

She offers,
“let us write
of our plight
of what’s wrong and right
in a poets sight tonight.”

I think,
I can’t write
on command
putting together words that band
like pearls in a strand
that rhyme and make sense!

The Not Quite Dead Yet Poet’s Society
will eventually come to notoriety
some may call this piety
I call it Writing Rock Talk!