Season of the Poets
They came together on a summer day,
tumbling and rambling across the screen.
They followed prompts or ignored prompts,
rhymed or roamed free.
They meshed and melded,
caromed and caroused.
An odd moment this Season of the Poets.
No commonality among them — not of time nor temperature,
nor interest nor age.
Still they came.
They came for the words and the emotions and the challenge.
On this day-long season, poets flourished.
They relished and resented each creative hour.
Hope, despair, memory, fantasy,
whimsy, humor, truth, and irony
marked the season.
The poets owned the season.
The season owned the poets.
Magical, frustrating, exhausting, exhilarating.
Poets celebrate this sacred season in silence,
exploring thoughts, seizing words,
decorating isolation with ideas.
An when the day is done
and the season is over
they emerge with renewed energy
ready to revisit
the Season of the Poets.
One thought on “Season of the Poets (Hour 7)”
This would be a good one to submit for the anthology. I like it.