20 Lines A Day

A Community of Writers and Photographers


I love this room. Computer, desk, and books
all beckon me to literary tasks.
The places I’ve arranged to read, the nooks,

invite me to their softness. My book asks
attention, draws me to another world
where, for a time, I put on different masks.

I see the flag of Singapore unfurl,
the snow-capped alpine peaks of Switzerland,
and watch Italian tourists as they hurl

their coins into the Trevi Fountain. Grand
the banks of Paris, Notre Dame, the Seine.
I’ve traveled far and walked upon the strand

through books, come home with riches more than ten
and fifty thousand pounds in gold. The streets
and mountains I have seen will keep me when

the aggravating march of time knocks, greets
me at my door. I close my eyes, go back,
and taste again the flavored travel sweets.

The Trevi Fountain in Rome

1 Comment

On Vacation

Erato, Muse of Poetry











My muse has taken her vacation trip
and I can’t seem to even write a blip,
a shred, a tag, a phrase, or paragraph.
She left me high and dry, and I don’t laugh

when she plays cat and mouse, these games with me.
Perhaps she’s hiding high up in a tree.
Or has she taken wing to Switzerland
to ski the snow-capped Alps so high and grand?

Exploring in the reaches of my mind
I cannot grasp what once was well-defined.
My muse sits on a mountaintop so high
while my ideas thud, refuse to fly.


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