Malcolm and Pablo

I’ve had many books in my life
Few have stayed with me,
A mystic’s guide to golf,
A copy of the Tao, and
An anthology of outlaw poets.

I’ve listened to many podcasts in my life,
Few have stayed with me,
A writer’s illumination of moments,
A psychologist’s search for mastery,
And a writer’s examination of history.

Two collided today,
Unleashing a hope that my mini crossword
Success rate is not an indication
Of declining faculties, but more a
Lethargy of white matter, temporary as it’s been

For after listening to Gladwell
Wax poetic about puzzles, context, and ketchup,
The strings in my brain, those neural pathways,
Began conducting energy, again, finally,
Which led me to Netflix, My List.

For weeks, I’ve been avoiding commitment,
Unable to muster an attention span
For anything lasting more than about ten minutes,
But in My List was a movie that was not just
For watching, it would require reading, too

As my Spanish, to put it en pocas palabres,
Is limited and Neruda was to be presented with subtitles.
Tonight, I was inspired to watch,
To read, to feel the rhythms in Pablo’s work,
The power in his aura.

After watching, the frenetic pace of inspiration
I felt earlier in the day,
Settled into a reflective moment
When I remembered the poetry anthology
Gathering dust on a shelf. So long ago…

I will sleep well tonight,
Knowing tomorrow will be filled with poetry,
Whether it be work and finding beauty
In distance learning or home and the calm
Of family and renewal.

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