My special place has no GPS address.

It is a place that moves with time and mood.

It is elusive but once announced may not be ignored.

There is no road, no stairs to climb, only a drift

of consciousness and spirit, insistent tireless.

I sleep with an HB pencil, in case of attack.

I enjoy the chase of fleeing words,

revel in the joy of nascent phrase.

 

Now I stand at the top of our drive.

I try looking inwards despite the beauty

of our changing view of mountains,

islands, boats, trees and soaring birds.

But the eye is not obeying me.

It is only aware of our tireless view.

 

But perhaps there is a notion of an idea.

Leave the view, however beautiful.

Look at the colours of the trees,

be aware of the singing of the clouds

and the whisper of leaves calling me.

The fruit is ready to pick.

No that is too mundane.

The words are beckoning me with

Insistent laughter,

mocking chatter.

Write!

 
 

David Garlick, Sidney, October, 2009