The Imagination Express,
a quatrain of delight
near the conjunction of
your station of thoughts.
Its sing-song, clackety-clack
rhythms of life draw
all poets near and far.
across the tracks
laid by poets of old,
hammered out in
short lines of steel and lead pressed
across the remnants of trees.
which are the ingredients
of a poets platform,
from the pounded, ground up remnants
of some poet-tree they’ve never climbed.
the many spans of attention
from the liquid
extract of a tanka
and refueling with
your pearls of wisdom
Each spark of inspiration
excites tiny children and adults alike,
from the steam of words infused
poets disembark to welcome all.
Dr. Suess, and Mother goose,
they mingle here with Robert Frost,
beside Walt Whitman they each toss
sweet little words of joy across
the crowds who’ve hungered since their loss.
” Two Roads diverge, on leaves of grass,
The cat in the hat with any luck sir,
will most likely be your conductor,
please join us in the dining car,
for Little Miss Muffet’s curds and whey,
and some Jack Horner pie our special today.”
All a bored,
will find wonders here,
on an idyll journey over pastoral plains,
grab your claim tickets
for the dreams you will find
emerging from the sleeping berths.
See the sonnets in their bonnets,
herding each lamb
into a cattle car,
just a pentameter away.
Grab your litotes and your laptops
and climb aboard,
we’ll be stopping near Sandburg,
for some lunch with Carl,
and visit Anne’s bookstore on Bradstreet.
we will be long past tense by morning,
so grab a seat, next to an oxymoron,
who is smartly attired,
or if travel sickness plagues you,
sit with a paradox who can aid you.
Find a relaxing composition,
and make friends with all,
“I never metaphor I didn’t like.”
Thus our epic begins,
enjoy the ride.