PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Royal Emerson sits at his leisure, just when

an anonymous group of somebodys happened

to shuffle over the horizon. Aside he sets his scribbling

and stands to greet and/or confront the first set of somebodys

that he's seen in something like three or four decades.

He fancies himself a scholar, and something like an artist

but with words and without paint. The "writer" such a lowly title,

at least for a "writer" of a stature such as his.

He muses and collects and settles on a theory, like

a prodding intellectual without a bolt to cease his mouth.

But he's kind enough, and on occasions rare,

he'll admit that he came out wrong.

But he has a certain feeling, somewhere

in his gut, that this peculiar meeting

could see to cease his 'lax.

And maybe just on a fortuitous day

(one such as this that he shares on this lake)

he'll hear word of something exciting,

and set off to some place else.