There in stunted silence, the rube sits.
This solitary soul searching
the sites around him for a glimpse,
a fragmented fractal, upon which to
pose his imperfect pondering.
On the surface, a catatonic
cad, aloof and disinterested,
unaffected by life’s happenstance.
But below the layers of sinew
and fiber, there is a spark.
A speck of a spark in which
all the answers of life dwell.
It flits and dances in his soul,
it infects his longing heart,
it leaps boundlessly to his vacuous
cranium, this arena of thought,
where it has room to roam.
Bouncing from synapse to
neuron and back,
expanding disproportionately
to the importance it assumes
but oh, the wonder it beholds.
Inside this infantile ember
there exists an avalanche
of ideas that simmer for the moment,
and have smoldered for all
of his lifetime.
Romantic ruminations of a
love lost or a soul mate found,
ridiculous rhymes of a playful tone,
tactile meandering of a verbal nature,
all abiding in his treasure chest of intellect.
He shifts in his seat, our
spellbound simpleton, this
multi-syllabic snake charmer,
as a tendril of thought comes
a bit too close to that glowing
epicenter of expression. They merge,
taking on a life all its own
to flail unencumbered, this
cerebral conflagration
burning brightly.
Extracting a pen, he jots three words
on the back of his left hand,
an apparent reminder of whatever
bit of brilliance just entered his mind.
Gathering together his scraps of paper,
and his pieces of the puzzle he is crafting,
this omni-present observer strolls
three benches down to take a
new vantage point to view this vignette
called life. And glancing at his
left-handed, self-made tattoo
he reads the words he had written.
It states quite simply,
“I am poet”.
Rather satisfied with his station
in this complex world, he writes
with a singular hope to touch
yet another soul.
© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2016
dVerse Poets Pub – Meeting the Bar – Let’s Kick it Up a Notch
The original poem:
THE POET
He sits in silence,
alone, a soul searching
for a glimpse, just
a piece, upon which to
propose his pondering.
Cool on the surface,
a cad, aloof,
not interested,
not affected by life.
Beneath layers of sinew
and fiber, there is a spark
in which lies all the answers to life.
It dances in his soul,
it infects his longing heart,
it leaps to mind –
this arena of thought,
where it has room to run.
Connecting the dots,
expanding unevenly
in the wonder it holds.
In each dying ember
there lives an idea that simmers,
for the moment smoldering
and burning all his lifetime.
Thoughts of love
or a love lost,
a soul mate found,
playful rhymes touching every word,
all residing in his mind.
He is restless, this
simpleton snake charmer,
as thoughts like tinder comes
a bit too close to that glow.
They take on a life all its own
to dance freely, enflamed
and burning brightly.
Taking his pen, he scribbles
on the back of his left hand,
to remind him of inspirations
as they enter his mind.
Gathering together his pages,
these pieces of the puzzle he is crafting,
this ever-present observer moves
three benches down, taking a
new point of view of this scene
called life. And glancing at his
left-handed, self-made tattoo
he reads the words he had written.
It says simply, “I am poet”.
Satisfied with his station
in this complex world, he writes
with the sole purpose of touching
yet another soul.
© Walter J. Wojtanik – May 2010
https://aleerily.wordpress.com/2010/05/17/the-poet/
Lifting into the sky,
a string of flickering light.
A random path to the stars,
as each pop and crackle
augments every pinprick
in the evening darkness.
The lake is still, reflecting
each fleck of every spark presented.
All sent heavenward
until the campfire finally dies.
© Walter J Wojtanik