*Written for a wonderful wordsmith, Kathryn Collins,
who is <em>kindred</em> in so many ways... you are loved.
Mary Ann Epp is a poet in the disguise of a folk singer. A local grown
treasure too few have heard. Her life has been so rough
and all she writes, all she croons, is pure love.
Inspiring, she tells of all that is universal, but makes it very close,
very personal. A world painted ... within tiny, perfect rooms. Remind
you of anyone else? Go on swat me, Kathryn, such a treasure
Mary Ann Epp-
The Muses Café moved, became larger, lost character... still has the best
vegetarian food EVER, still has the same warm people...
But I set this in its original home, on King St, in a 100 year old storefront
with views to the bustle of a city's main street.
and post notes and photos about your poem.
Sunset. Synergy is moving between chairs
that don't quite match, widening tight circles
of rovers. Muses Cafe, a small cove where
views internalize, so we heave heavy troubles
outside. Minstrel Mary Anne Epp shelters
songs about happenstance .When a server drops
a plate, she ad libs, Save cracks for later.
Heads nod to her witty vibes, bite-sized bops.
Inspiration strums as parlance sighs, Good grief,
my journal's at home. You say, All's fine.
but your purse offers only ONE loose leaf,
curiously room enough for TWO to lay lines.
Pens groove. Friend, you prove that poets can wage
self-determined verse while on the same page.