Spectrum Duck Luck Club
I started writing a novel
The ducks don’t bleed from my pluma
Capturing the duckling kisses
Left an indelible impression on my lillypads
When I was a teen age poet
My parents gave me strict beak bites
“No Liberal Arts- Science or Mathematics and maybe…Law School”
I ducked into an English Literature degree
Prematurely panicked.
I thought my poetic wings were too weak.
Pelicaned to the Dot.com disastrous bubble.
I surrendered not believing in my sing song quacks.
When I landed in the chaotic orbs of the business world.
My neck was almost guillotined
I almost became the Thanksgiving duck dinner
The SVP interested in crushing my delicate willow bones
I flew back to Midsummer’s Night Dream
Mesmerized and dazed by Ariel’s musical spells.
Connected with the Spectrum Poetry Society.
We share our chalices of French brioche bread
And get drunk from the shared ambrosia words every Saturday afternoon.
Even though I struggle with the pace of my duck luck club.
Swimming alongside, or behind, is sweet breadsticks
I have discovered I have the grit to keep swimming the pond
Because weaving poetry is such sweet bliss.
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