Alone in a strange place,
sitting at an old dining room table,
in a cool room with little light,
I organize new thoughts and write.
It’s not that I have much to say,
today, more than any other,
but ideas like magma push through
my crust of consciousness exploding
onto the page as words and phrases.
The quiet room, an elixir, motivator and guide,
allows freedom of expression
and contact with deep places
I reach only when dreaming.
Strong ideas and uncontrollable inspiration
builds with every word,
until the climax forces a halt to newness,
giving transcription time to keep pace.
When family returns and silence is put away,
the notebook is closed, and I take my place
joining the conversation, as if nothing happened.
Copyright © Gerald Greene | Year Posted 2019