Written for Adv. English . . . Our task: To write a poem emulating Walt Whitman's style, describing one everyday object.
In The Pocket of the Raconteur…
And so stories are told, warranting its help-
Forever telling tales, convoluted ribbons of ink.
In such organization, there is no organization,
Thus only the deity, the beholder which covets
Can lay such toiled, tortured beings which mimic reality, to imaginative rest.
Creates disjointed situations with ease-
The maker and perhaps, soulless breaker, of the non-existent.
The myriad of unconventional homes-
Of which are only temporary.
Palms; the depths of worn pockets; in drawers; perched on ears; amid pencils of color, in a mug of dusty china-
Does drive suffice?
Hardly; rather an entity.
Loyal companion and creator:
Of a wearied executor and his addendum, his memo.
Of a child's forged excuse.
Of a harried parent's list of to do's, and
The captor of camouflaged intricacies, from the mind so criticized;
From the mind which sees more than most.
Of a lonely woman's staunchness to tradition, and her last sustaining pursuit.
Of a shy man's letter, his confession, a mausoleum for his silences, never spoken…
But, eternal preservation.
History's secretary, the wandering mind's outlet;
Losing, perhaps, ink, but never its muse.
In the palm of all that create.