words come in waves a chorus splashing in harmony drenching my dancing heart as my muse croons her siren melody a hypnotic verse reminiscent of the haunting a cappella sung by a lonely sea urging me to fall overboard into the depth of her words submerged in metaphors drowning in poetry
No, not when you think. I would have to say when I sit down to eat. I always imagine the dinner time conversations when families or couples dine. I bet most people take these moments for granted. I don’t.
Drinking my mojito, I watched a sunset.
Started writing a poem on a napkin. (Yes, we may have to change the blog name to The Lonely Napkin Author).
I wrote something for my muse. It will post this coming Monday. Hopefully, she will like it.
This was my dinnertime view last night, all that was missing was YOU.
Seriously, did you really think the Beach Boy didn’t have one last adventure in him? Today, I am flying to the Dominican Republic for a three month writing retreat/vacation.
Question: Who wrote the following? A tramp, a gentleman, a poet, a dreamer, a lonely fellow, always hopeful of romance and adventure.
The first week, I will be staying at exclusive 7,000 acre resort Casa de Campo. It is a great golfing resort. President Bill Clinton just stayed there in July. The resort’s theatre was opened with an exclusive concert by with performers Frank Sinatra , Buddy Rich, Heart. and Santana (Aug 20, 1982).
On my last vacation I chased whales. The itinerary for this trip begins with the exploration of the 100,000 year old Las Maravillas Caves, where long before Chistopher Columbus arrived, the Taino Indians left pictographs on the walls.
Altos de Chavón is a replica 16th century Mediterrean village which serves as a cultural center for students, tourists, and artists from around the world. St. Stanislaus church is a stone building in the center of the village. Consecrated in 1979, Pope John Paul II sent the ashes of Poland’s patron saint, St. Stanislaus, and a hand-carved statue from Krakow to commemorate the church’s inauguration.
Of course, I will be spending time with my goddaughter Dibel (a.k.a. Lily) and so many friends.
I will stick to my regular blogging schedule Monday and Thursday (comment closed)
Answer: Charlie Chaplin wrote these words in his diary.
A tramp, a gentleman, a poet, a dreamer, a lonely fellow, always hopeful of romance and adventure.
Sitting at a bar, thoughts of muses, poetry. and loneliness floated alongside the ice cubes in my mojito.
I scribbled an occasional sentence or verse on a napkin because they were napkin worthy, unlike most of my other thoughts which are written on….
A waitress asked what I was doing.
“Writing poetry on a napkin.”
Time passed, my melancholy mood in this crowded bar, did not.
The waitress returned with a carnation. Pointing at an empty booth, she advised me a beautiful blonde was watching me as I drank and wrote. She was the curious person who wanted to know what I was writing.
Just before she left, my secret admirer asked the waitress to deliver the flower with a message.
“Mr. Poet, let this inspire you until the next time we meet for the first time.”
This photo is the carnation resting on the footboard of my bed.
come dim the lights peel off your stockings along with the inhibitions that keep you from me unclasp your fears toss them on the floor let your heart breathe free love is no masquerade our sentiments need no disguise take it off my love let me explore the nudity of your soul