Untied.
Poets like me often hitch
a slow ride
on a passing ideal where
behind screens
another reality is hiding
rainy-day-grey
yet beaconing light from
fantasy guides
who search for the willing.
*
*
Dreamland begins
where visions of moonstone
begin to call and
nothing shades eager ears
from mystic demands
of potential when unknown
appears just before
waking from sleep\'s control.
Nostalgic scenes
appear wonder- scented as
yield dissolves fears
to open access while ideas
take wing beneath
raining of letters on canvas
linking lined spaces
with mystic-sown viewing
for alchemy moves
thinking in curious minds.
*
*
Mood rides high
as untied linguistic phrases
dance into being and
infuse inspiration, prose or
rhyme sentence the
indescribable when a Muse
invites awed writers
like me to enter that space
and learn the secret
of scribing extra-dimension