a meander from my first mind map

He was born
in a town where
the world was small
and subsisted on corn
– they of course did not serve
all corn for meals, though cornbread
enjoyed high enough of a favored status
to call a happy staple and by
subsistence is meant of course
their fields had fertility
conducive to that crop

and few would find sweeter,
juicier, kernels to crunch,
and should butter be spread
on those sweet, juicy, kernels,
well, the smallness of a world
vanished from consideration
as a factor worth spending much
awareness energy on,
so the region had a market
for what they poured a majority
of their muscles into – maturity

bequeathed minimal leaning towards
joking around in favor of
a maximizing of sobriety,
and in the event an immigrant
in transit pulled over to seek
direction and he happened to be
the one, oh lending a hand
to anyone in a bind
humble or great he never
minded, but should the seeker
dare crack a joke, laughter

did not erupt, not even a polite
gesture from his throat, maybe pay
the slightest smile thin and pained,
and his hint had little trouble
hitting its goal, but being otherwise
moral and charitable
practiced abstinence by
not rubbing the nose of the lost
in the messy misstep,
but would say he figured the pilgrim
was ready to get on down the road.

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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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2 Responses to a meander from my first mind map

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