"Where I Write" -- April 26, National Poetry Month
Where I Write
in Plato’s cave, casting my eyes
upon the shadows of reality, where rocks
are canvas, light the painter’s brush,
dancing swirls of endless daemons
just out of reach of my small understanding.
in the Clockhouse at Goddard,
smell of bacon, eggs, kale
sifting through the cracks in the walls,
as I find the keystone to opening
doors, not out of privilege, but through
in the belly of a whale
silently, not disturbing the match
between Geppetto and Jonah,
their chess pieces made
from the lies of their respective gods.
on the edge of my chair
in a rundown diner, sloppy French fries
growing cold on my plate, while the Prophet
James Baker Hall illuminates the heavens
with tales of the Nighttime Mind.
in Cair Paravel, on the steps
leading up to the thrones,
with my beloved lion guarding
the door, my mother laughing
at Edmund’s latest joke.
over bowls of black bean soup
steaming up my thick glasses, sharing
dirty limericks with my fellow
journalist, poet, actor, writer, singer, songwriter
friend, my infant daughter asleep on the couch.
beneath the Bodhi tree,
alongside Siddhartha, Lao Tzu, Stephen Mitchell,
all the ancestors and descendants,
sharing tea with milk and honey,
not saying a single word.
wherever pens, paper, keyboards,
muses, children, kindness, pain, grief
love, loss, death and rebirth all reside,
where kindred spirits dwell, where no one lives,
where alone and together are lovers entwined.
wherever I am