Publication 742
By Arcadian on
Sunday, April 3, 2005
at
02:05
Location:
Australia
Registered:
Friday, July 30, 2004
Posts:
63
SearchQuote
Booksigning
The sun started to hide,
shadows were cast in the street.
The queue snaked outside
several retail shops and slid into
the book store, ready to devour
the author's new tale.
He was seated
near the low lit desk lamp.
A fountain pen, unsheathed;
revealed the gold nib,
forged and folded many times
finely honed, balanced
now ready
to leave his signature
inside the hardback.
An eager fan in front,
asked a careless question:
"I admire your work"
Cold granite eyes sized him up
and they seemed to say,
with an air of superiority:
How dare you !
you judge my talent now,
after years of obscurity,
and struggle;
do you know
the rock strewn road
travelled to get here ?
The nib cut into the paper,
a short sharp pain followed,
then left a tattoo with a trickle of blood.
The tail slithered a little.
And next in line,
he asked for my name,
and scribbled away.
I kept quiet as a mouse:
there was no time for his arrogance.
As winter
was one breath away;
and it was time to hibernate
with morsels of phrases, sentences:
to read in between the lines,
savouring the juices
of intrique and adventure
in the quieter, frozen months ahead.
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