The Pen in Hand
My pain is a blessing as I hold tight to my pen.
The pen in hand
Creates from my genius.
The genius is like a genie.
Rub the pen and paper
Let the ink of genius soak deep into the paper.
Soaking up its power and like the anointing,
I move into another place.
It is the secret place where the genius
And poet's inkwells meet up with God.
It is a paradise of revelation.
A holy time and a time to see
Visions from God and hold the new
Ideas as tight as I hold my pen.
My poetry is like a movie premiere.
I must go through many takes before
The director-- in this case, God--
Is ready to finish the process.
A new art is now ready
To attach to the womb
Of the minds eager for new life
From the hand of God's poets.
God's poets, the genius
Will extend the themes to time,
And time will carry the lineage
Into new generations to enjoy.
Oh, the lifetime of poetry
Is eternal when God is the producer.
The poet is a witness and the inkwells
Belong in covenant with God and the poets.
The entire creation is too short for most poetry minds.
The new arrival is awaiting the green light.
The audience finds their favorite reading chair.
If so blessed, the audience will hear the poet's voice
As if they were all in the same room together.
Recite poetry and the poetry will be complete.
By Clara Mitchell 12/7/2023
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