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Imagination

Standing at the edge of the bay, I imagine a watery grave where lie Remains of an old Spanish galleon Laden with silver coins encrusted Barnacles and unsalvaged treasure, Where once the buccaneers partied After a successful foray in a placid sea In those moments I dance a sarabande As my vivid imagination runs amok. written January 5, 2022

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Caren Krutsinger

Date: 1/13/2022 8:24:00 AM

The pirate in you has intrigued and entranced me with this marvelous missive!

L Milton Hankins
Date: 1/13/2022 8:46:00 AM

Thanks, Caren. My imagination was running amok. Sometimes that happens to me...hey, you know that feeling!

Terry Flood

Date: 1/12/2022 4:24:00 PM

Blimey, I thought you’d turned into Otis Redding. No, seriously, a delightful and indulgent moment of reverie… surely the least any artistic mind should allow itself. Terry

L Milton Hankins
Date: 1/12/2022 4:54:00 PM

Hey, Terry, come to think of it, I should have sat "on the dock of the bay!" Hmmmm...hey, you can write that one! Thanks so much for your thoughts on my poem.

John Lawless

Date: 1/12/2022 11:51:00 AM

sail on Milton......raise the banner and run before the gale...

L Milton Hankins
Date: 1/12/2022 11:57:00 AM

(chuckling) That's how I felt standing there at the edge of the bay, John, so I reckon my poem made sense. Argggh!