Daydreams of a Drowsy Poet

Austere, the cranial landscape
settled into acceptance. The need
to create something lush to brighten the grayness – that
is what lingers there waiting
for the Muse to fly in from some exotic location.

It begs your exquisite mind
for a place to land and upon your acquiescence
a garden blooms…delphiniums, hollyhocks,
verbena, and suddenly a name,
someone you used to know.

The face hazy, but that day
unfolds before you like a dream.
Maybe it was a dream; delphiniums
don’t do so well in clay. 
You notice the bells have quit ringing

and  then
 you understand
it is not truth,
but the search for truth
that makes a poem.

6 thoughts on “Daydreams of a Drowsy Poet

  1. Oh, Sarah, how exquisitely expressed! Of course, it touched deep into my writer’s soul and experience … speaks to the muse as it speaks to the creative urge. Yes, perhaps, the search is the only discovery we need make. I can’t say enough how much I LOVE this one! Love and hugs. Peace. Diane XO ❤

  2. Ah, Jane,

    I’m just back from your blog and what a grand trip it was.
    Wonderful butterflies and a super day with your friend.
    It is a joy to spend time in your writings!

    Then I come to my blog and find that you have been here
    and left sparkles of joy.

    Thank you!!


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