Member Poem

The streets are that audience  I dwell on,
after midnight and later pursuit of intrigue,
with pen waving in the air so frantically,
as a wand attracting dream flights,
this magnet for dark undercurrent of imps,
I address them and other other worlds,
using the power of mind so focussed,
my thoughts leapt into the unknown,
without backtrack or retrace but I plod on,
my moonlit lips are sealed yet they emit,
shiny coal nugget whispers at random,
caramelised squeak nocturnal ‘s wry nod,
from the invisible and  inveigled  throng clattering,
soft voice to my three year taunted gadget,
sound clip interspersed with this trademark zeal,
being picked the midnight moiety stunned by effrontery,
that is in actual fact understated flatterer,
ghostly cheek entertained by covert transcript I squeeze,
for giggles, guffaws and wicked goofing,
I deepen overt  parlance with  soggy sigh exuding insight,
to bow and plummet in dramatic response,
to a blurred gathering impacted by performance I’d rehearsed,
seconds before strolling that captivating platform for my pitch