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Question MarkPanic time came and departed Sunday evening at Waterfront Park on the Florida Intercoastal Waterway. I had not written a poem in weeks. Agitated, I strove to calm myself in this idyllic setting. The muse refused.

I walked away with pages written long-hand with my Waterman Paris fountain pen, the most special of all my pens, and nothing worth reading to show for the spent ink. The panic. I’ve lost it. The ability to write.

A silly notion, to be sure, but one where, forced to face these fears, helped inspire my creative nature to be attuned to snippets of inspiration. Three days later, I’ve written a blog post on “How to Write a Book in 30 Days!” (my new four-week seminar/webinar series) and this evening I wrote the following poem.

As is this site’s primary bent, the poem is as originally written, with no tweaks or edits, just as a dear friend suggested last year, poetry with whatever raw emotion sticks out. No smoothing around the edges. While I’m not turning cartwheels across the floor (yeah, that I could actual do that…), I am pleased to have had the merest of brushes with my favorite muse ~ the poet within…

Questions Are More Exciting Than Answers

Back in the day, I graze carpets on hands and knees
I question conceptually our floor furnace that
Lends us heat and comfy coziness in winter
Until my hand leaps to the air with a yelp.

In mountainous Colorado, just past toddler
I question why one path back to the campsite
Commands more respect than the others
Until hopelessly lost in a strange forest.

My first sock hop in junior high
I question why my heart pounds in near-fatal fear
Over dancing with Dawna under glittering globes
Until we touch and I know how painfully sweet love can be…

While college whisks me to futures unknown
I question why studying demands
Hours, sweat, tears, and sleepless nights
Until my first failing grades in a lifetime of educational success.

When marriages, a pair, come and crumble
I question their relevance, complexity, and value
Given their pain, eventual distance, and regret
Until I found no one could love me as I need but myself.

Life flies by in series’ of pain and enlightenment
I question the merit of continuing
Stumbling against time, will, and grace
Until I step back and revel in wild wonderment that I exist at all.

Answers would be quite dull without questions
Our bumbling blocks which build our wisdom ~
Questions to last to the end of existence
Until we pass on, each to our own private answers…