some poets are bull riders
some net backyard butterflies
others take spaceships
into the past or like to
swim through troubled waters
we write with the voice
we are given about a life
no one else has
and should listen to see if another’s
stretches our curiosity enough
to step out of our world of words
into one which take odd twists
or seems a bit feral or wayward
to those who don’t get out much
but oh how much easier to follow
sunny footprints in the sand
to an unmapped place
than through the brambles
of an overgrown path
on a coal black night