The Writers Voice
The World's
Favourite Literary Website
Gemses - Her View of Eric the Writer
by
Rusty Broadspear
In the background, Four Seasons, Vivaldi.
The monitor eerily lights the room.
From my perspective, his face was well lit,
Heavily contoured, studious, at times sad.
He was smoking heavily and drinking malt.
Occasionally his hands clasped before him,
Elbows on the desk, he rested his head,
Staring at the screen, where his distant love had once been.
He was at peace but in thoughtful turmoil
As ideas boiled. He was gently giving birth,
With such care, tenderness and compassion,
To a structure of words
That would make the world cry or laugh,
Or at least stop, think, and believe in hope.
A one–sided smile, a groan, gut laughter,
A tear, a yee haa, an inward doleful sob,
Emotions ran riot to the mood of Vivaldi.
While he was working, his world was sleeping,
Sporadically he would go outside
Lie down on wet earth and silently ask the stars.
No answers but inspiration aplenty,
Then he would rush back in
And fingers danced the keyboard Swan Lake,
For seconds, maybe minutes………………
Then head on hands. He…… strived.
By the way, my name is Gemses,
I am a female spider perched atop his monitor,
And I monitor this man most nights.
Sometimes he touches me
As if afraid he may hurt me,
He does it to let me know he’s aware.
A mindful man, with such deep resources,
A kindful man, not lonely, with social skills,
With an assignment to which he is comatose.
When awakened………………………
Now Bond Themes are playing,
Shirley Bassey slips him into gear
And fingers tap the dance of the thirties.
As this man swigs another malt,
Gemses says that this man is in love with life,
He embraces it fullfold,
Loving everyone without exception.
Gemses says, take care of this man
For he his troubled.
I love this man so much…………………
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