The Poet’s Chair

The Poet’s Chair

Nature, that wondrous Muse so brilliant and fair,
has formed a poet’s mossy woodland chair.
Leaves like written poems lie silently
upon this once living tree and all around.
Poems can be like leaves torn easily
from the book of an ancient tree
to fall upon an ever-welcoming ground.
Like leaves, they may rise and fly through time
by the power of a benevolent breeze.
Hopeful, I stand in this magical place, amused
to wonder if my old and long-forgotten poetry
may yet be found by a humble, future ‘me’.
My poems are not special or grand or near perfection
but I must express my soul, my mind, my heart
by sculpting language into my art
as ‘souvenirs’ and ‘signposts’ of my evolution.
Sometimes looking back from end to start,
I feel that undying Energy of which I’m a part-
a beingness beyond all language, all words.
In such moments I am silent and serene.
Everything is so much more than it seems.
Then, once more, I am stirred to draw with words
the thoughts about my ever-changing world.
As I stand before this mossy woodland chair
surrounded by the presence of ever-watchful trees,
I memorize this seat of contemplation
so as to take it with me everywhere.
In times of reflection and meditation
you will find me sitting in this poet’s chair.

(Shelley Wilson October 1, 2017)

May your Spirit shine brightly, Shelley