In the night, winter-cold.
The uncouth poet wrote, notebook full.
Flames dancing, crackling heard, was the wood stove. He, possessed-like, writing words as if hearing stories told.
Even the mouse of the cabin took notice by pause. On one accord did wolves’ howl. Coffee—cold bourbon mixed, falls staining the cabin floor.
He, who once caused a clamor in full rooms cursing all. Claiming his eccentric style ceasing academia form was but prophecy for the task in which he was called.
Said: “Which of you can tell the poet what is poetry? Shall their soul unto them lie? Does not the soul speak unto the heart? If any write from the heart, The Poem, does this not give just cause that the poet is justified”?
Snap! Off goes the trap. Unsuccessful the mouse. The uncouth poet from top-lungs gives shout. Shut up You wolves I’m trying to write!
Slammed door, took notice the cabin floor. The mouse lies dead-still, the mouse was no more.
Grabs the bourbon to drink, drinks more. And again, the uncouth poet wrote—notebook full.
Written and read by Dee. Williams
Music Supervisor: Dee. Williams
Background music: Sad Soul (Chasing a Feeling) by: AlexGrohl
Background music arrangement by Afthal
Photo by Lexica
© 2025 UnControlled Pen LLC
