Creative Quest

Footsteps hushed

On red floral carpet

On a Quest to

Recognize The Marvelous

In the mundane

Whoa! Just a sec!


A Poet I Am NOT!

(He begs to Disagree!)

So, up those steps

Rugged in red

In disbelief, I trudge.

But, look! Don’t you see?

Twin flood lights above

Keep watch like

Hooded sentinels

But then upstairs

Oh pooh, alas!

Closed doors stand fast

Guarding the secrets of

Authors within

Until We are sanctioned to

Go in

When? When?

Just a sec!

The first session’s not over yet!

Our mission’s unaccomplished . . .

In the hushed, yet crowded hallway

Just one room yawns wide open



So I peek in

And spy right full center

Comfy chairs, unoccupied

(And probably too few!!)

That gather round a conference table

Draped in linen white

Rigged out with

Complimentary pens, and

Reams of paper, too

For aspiring authors to scribble on and

Dream Tall.

Clear, stemmed glasses

Huddle around

Twin amber pitchers

Like chicks around a hen

Waiting to dispense cool water

That’ll soothe

Parched throats, or

Nervous faltering hearts!

Off to the side

Like a dark wooden soldier

An easel holds at attention a

Large pad of paper Beckoning . . .

Come in! Come in!

Listen . . . and learn!

I promise, I will, I will

Then shout, I HAVE! I HAVE!

Just a sec! Hold on!

And I skip back down the stairs . . .