I knew but a house — for most of my childhood
it was one. The only refuge I knew — it was safe
and boring … it never moved, no matter how
many books I devoured when all had gone
to bed — I couldn’t cast away a spell onto a far
away island, no matter the day of the week
nor pull a cardboard sword from my pillow —
and I even tried to copy it into my own hand
but I never woke a man, a king, an author.

I knew but two channels — a TV made of wood
and legs that never moved but tied me to
Sunday afternoons and our couch alone where
I’d chase down black and white Crayola canyons
waiting for our tabby to emerge from a glass table
to cast four finger hair balls past The Iron Horse
or sneak beneath the blankets to blow the guns of
Navarone into a nameless space for me to travel —
I never heard those three most exciting sounds — 
Never touched anchor, plane seat, hadn’t even seen
a passenger train — though I’d flattened pennies —
and when I got a suitcase for Christmas, I believed
in the power of George Bailey — no crummy town
would keep me from writing my adventure.

I knew my imagination — found a purpose that day
when I read for the first time, fumbled and confused,
yes, garbled and abused, but I found the cadence
and I found my voice — my direction and wind
I found power and my own pulse within my throat
Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are;
I found place, acceptance rebellion and esteem
One equal temper of heroic hearts,
My untempered blood was warmed by Homeric muse
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
My stubbornness belonged — I could be anything
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.

∞

Submitted as part of “National/Global Poetry Writing Month” (#NaPoWriMo #GloPoWriMo).

Today’s prompt:  Day Fourteen:  I challenge you today to write a poem that deals with the poems, poets, and other people who inspired you to write poems. These could be poems/poets/people that you strive to be like, or even poems, poets, and people that you strive not to be like. There are as many ways to go with this prompt as there are ways to be inspired.

30 Poems in 30 Days

All text and photography © Dale Schierbeck

…. more of my original Poetry on EatsWritesShoots here.