It’s the thought that counts.

Uncanny and unseen
that comes to mind
that brings images,
peculiar shadows of doubt,
and odd little innuendos.
Only with a voice
one can be heard.
Yes! What leaves
clues and omens,
questions and answers,
fragments of revelations,
wisdom, and mysterious
unaccounted ideas?
Such are his works
of brilliance, some
show the way
while others don’t add up.
Yes what is the great disturber
of peace, the hunter, the intruder,
the resuscitator, the squatter?
Yes! Yes! The unseen one
that seems everywhere
and yet, is nowhere to be seen.
It is the Thought ...
that plays on the mind.

Reviews

[Chris Shaw]

All those thoughts on the loose. The ones that come out to play at night are the worse, preventing sleep. Wouldn't it be nice once in a while to have a blank canvas? A canvas that stays blank.

Chris

[barleygirl]

Now here's the THIRD poem I've read in a row, from you, having to do with obsessive unruly thoughts. By this point, I'm getting the impression that you are chronicling your own feisty battle taming your wandering old-fart mind. I kinda recognize this tussle you seem to be in.

Luckily, recreational marijuana is legal in California . . . it's a wonder drug for sorting out these intrusive thought sorties. Why, after a few bowls of bud with my coffee each morning, I don't think one damn thought all afternoon! *wink! wink!* Fondly, Margie