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Wonder Struck

Updated on January 10, 2010

The Center Of A Tulip. By-MFB III


What wonder granted

me this tantalizing view,

that allows me to

capture words

from the endless


of my world.

Holding each

restless possibility

in my mind,

till they roll

off my tongue,
in a syncopated

melody that moves me

to pen restless verse 

like wild animals.

Expressive spirits

giving voice,

snarling within

a white rectangle,

formed from the

of long ago dead trees

I have never climbed.

How does the

center of a tulip

compare to any

common adjectives,

and yet my hand

flies in a blur,

and poetry blooms.

Are war and love,

simply fodder

for the mind of

a wordsmith?

It is often fed

in poor taste-

or suckled in

heated fervor,

consumed by

the hunger for


What well do

we draw from

when we compose

endless, thoughts

poured out,

for others eyes

to drink from?

It matters not,

for this blessing

needs no rhyme

nor reason;

it simply is

my take on life

and oh, how

I delight in

stealing from

my needy muse.

Walt, he had the Whit, man,
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
perfected the seering
of her food for thought,
and I have the art,
tis why I breathe.




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