From out of the weather
with a whisper of the latch
the door lets me into the quiet
of the St. James Tavern.
Released from the noise of the city,
as through a decompression chamber,
the only sounds are the clink of ice in a glass
the clunk clunk clunk of the billiard tables
and murmur of voices over
the pull of the tap and roll of the surge.
voices and laughter seem soft and sacred as in the nave of a church.
Where connections are forged
under dim lights and other-worldly vibes.
A haven where monsters need not apply.
Like everyone else these days, I have thoughts and concerns I want to share whether or not anyone reads them. Sometimes it feels like we are talking over each other, all these podcasts, and "how tos" and advice on writing and publishing and getting out of bed in the morning! I welcome feedback and discourse from all, especially from this blogging community of which (I can't believe it!) I've been part of since 2014!!!
A happy Sunday to all! As we used to say before the pandemic, it's Sunday Funday. Can we bring it back? Or as Poets & Storytellers United ask, start over again?