Kernel

 

Dare to dream, believe poems

do not begin in smoke,

 

imagination, triggering town,

genius, whiskey, dope.

 

Instead, find life in a small idea,

concept, kernel, spark.

 

The bare thought, like wind,

swirling in, never twice

 

the same way whooshed.

Nonetheless, always blowing,

 

always the wind.

Catch a westerly breeze,

 

sail toward faint horizon,

glimpse new land in mist,

 

ride savage surf to shore.

There, in sand, a kernel,

 

soon poetic flour, unbeached, 

ready for baking. A feast

 

of sorts, the first draft

not all that iambic.

                                Timothy Pilgrim