OctPoWriMo 11: Musings at Manito Park

Where do we find poetry?

That singular mix of rhyme 

or free verse that has little structure, 

the laying of words in a line

to be read silently or aloud?

Some writers call on a muse

to inspire that string of words;

others wait until a poem takes form 

somewhere between the conscious and memory.

I'm drawn to image and experience,

dreaming my way to meaning.

We've walked so often in Manito Park, 

explored the Japanese garden there.

It doesn't seem to matter which way

I point the camera or sketch: peace reposes here

in the leaves colored with orange and sun,

in the flicker of koi just below the water.

I sit on a bench a little out of the way

to watch the ducks perched on a tiny island 

in the middle of the reflective pool. 

Here truly, the muse must live,

ever appreciative of each day's light

that fades to star-filled night.

Yes, peace reposes here.

Note: Today's poem came a little late, partly inspired by Morgan Dragonwillow's prompt for OctPoWriMo, to write about the muse, and partly by those many visits to Manito Park here in Spokane. I finally looked up what 'Manito' means to discover it stands for a spirit in Native American tradition, somehow appropriate for thinking about a muse and poetry.

It's dark outside now and rainy, cold with the first brush of coming winter. But this picture of changing leaves of a little tree in the small Japanese Garden at Manito Park reminds me of beauty everywhere and in every season.