Perchance… #Poetry

 

 

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I dream of a smoke-filled room

With deep red leather chairs

An old boys meeting place

Where all my favourite poets and storytellers

sit with their philosopher friends

Pen poised, ready to change the world

With their great imaginings

Magic to soothe the mind

Help your own thoughts to expand

Lewis Carroll speaks of a young girl

fallen down a rabbit hole

My ears tingle with anticipation

H G Wells speaks of the time machine he has in mind

Reading from his notes I want to interrupt him

Beg him to please take me with you

Today they have a foreign visitor

by the name of Mark Twain

He speaks of a strange land

and people of a different kind

Of a boy, Tom Sawyer, made to paint

 a picket fence with white paint

Getting into all kinds of trouble

Helping a slave to escape when no one else would

His heart as big as the Mississippi

I would have helped with that expedition

A run for freedom that belonged to his all along

Morning wakes my still tired eyes

I look to my notepad by my bedside

Wishing I could write as well as my favourite authors

My mind still held in half dream

On my notepad I read two words, You can

Written by a hand that was not my own…

AAAAA

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