grant me my pen

Sit yourself down

on a white throne,

and contemplate

the change in life,

from employment

to student “lyfe”,

from anxious days

(tense relations)

between bosses

and tired staff:


I’m back at work,

at least in food,

with a free lunch

of sweet chicken

and salted chips—

don’t put me back

behind the till,

give me Shakespeare

or Brothers Grimm;

grant me my pen,


and I’ll tell stories

with all the art

of privilege—

forget the loan,

forget the dept—

grant me my pen,

I won’t forget

where it started,

and where I’ve been,

or what I’ve seen.


Grant me to write:

I know it right

to fill pages quite

from dawn to night

in fire light,

anbaric bright,

in this I fight

with all my slight

lingusitic height:


Grant me my pen.


© Iain Sutherland, 2014.

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6 thoughts on “grant me my pen

  1. I too have felt the desperation of those moments fulfilling duty when every bone in my body screams to be stringing words together on a blank page. Thank you!

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