Word Searching

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Word Searching

"Expression is all we want." - Emerson 

An empty Moleskine in hand,
elbows on knees I sit on the weathered wooden bench
and stare out across the evening summer frolics
of Coolidge Park,
                 a one-man band’s
saxophonic wail wafting across the nearby bridge to drench
me in the sort of thoughts nostalgics
are known to think at the end of every season.

A simple reason
brings me to this place of self-reflection,
this space and time
where fading sunlight, child’s laughter,
and the smell of browning leaves combine
to form the frame of mind
ideal for poetic creation:  
   The need to write.

I am a cup that’s overfull,
a thread that’s over-taut,
a top-heavy pod of dandelion seeds
that only needs
the slightest breeze of inspiration
to then release to the world the multitudinous thoughts
that desperately call
for the emancipation of written expression.
                              




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