A simple question was all that was asked
“What is an artist’s inspiration?”
How does one define
Which ideas are so insistent that they be written?
Sitting here now at the ocean’s edge
I watch and listen to the wave’s actions,
Rolling into each other, over and over
Erasing all footsteps from soft sands.
Overhead thirty pelicans fly
Following one who will make the decision,
Then all will fall, head-first into the sea
Expecting fish because of his sight precision.
The day is grey, sun expected later
Some decry this color of sky and sea,
However, my mind races with glorious thoughts
For a day like this is perfect for me.
And so we see, pelicans’ dives,
Words my grandson has uttered,
A challenge from another for a story
With a provided phrase, can make my heart flutter.
Or the vibrant colors of the yarn my friend dyes
Skeins that sings songs of glee.
All these and more in my day
Bring inspiration to me.
Some days it is sitting next to one who is dying
My hospice gift to another
Having heard her words or seen a visitor
Cause my mind to mutter.
And then there are the ancient lives
Who have stories they bring to me,
To tell all that live today
So we may set them free.
It is not a given,
Not the same every time,
Nor is it everyday that I must store words
In prose or in rhyme.
But the time when I hear my heart tell me to write,
I do it in rhyme or prose,
For this is my life and this is my journal,
And there is nothing I can do but compose.