hard to tell if this raft so far
from a civilized shore
is a blessed or an accursed
setting to get into one of those
yarns as the obvious
nature pains the entire
parlor, yep right down to them pearly
piano keys, in the fact that the library

isn’t in convenient reach
and a custom came into being
of knowing whenever weeds
would invade and choke all the work
the chores labored so long in,
meaning clearing a field
to plant the opaque, a short
shuffle to that world smelling of sweet

page and ink would restore
balance or sanity
if you will, but out here, bobbing,
watching the tip of what’s left
of that sinking ship, guess fortune
was kind in bringing this raft
and a castaway could sure get thirsty
for a beer by the Black Sea


About Timmy the Scribbler

Love to write all kinds of stuff I love writing so many different kinds of stuff it is a constant struggle to narrow the focus to a manageable handful and let the others go. But a few years ago I dipped my fingers into a poetry pie and of all my uncertainties, one thing that is no uncertainty is that it is one passion that must remain, so maybe that's the one. I do dearly delight in chopping up fictional works into stanzas and syllables.
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