Ink-travel

 

Where will we travel today, my dear friend

Before dusk-blue shadows are cast?

Will we push toward life’s elusive ‘next-bend?’

Or return by your touch, to the past?

Will we, by the vexing persuasion of ink

Ponder the cold facts that exist?

Or will we succumb and slip over the brink

To arms of loved ones, dearly missed?

Will we probe the oracles shaping our want?

Or want nothing but what we hold?

Will we by the power of word-whispered jaunt

Revel where the moon blazes cold?

Darling, I love you for I cannot tell

Wherever or how we might go

And thought is an ocean that no hand can quell

Nor tether its free-falling flow

We are capable my love, of the worst

Just as we are of life’s best

Ah poet, ah pen, are we graciously cursed

Or dearly and divinely blessed?

A pen is a vehicle we all can afford

What blessing it then surely must be

That we traverse fathoms with nothing but word

Spilling into poetry

© Janet Martin