|Photo by Margaret Bednar|
Sitting there with his demitasse,
shards of thoughts made a word cloud
in his fragmented mind
and brought pointillism on cheap tissue.
He pressed the nib
on his single lined writing pad,
making the ink bleed into
damp latte-stained rings of patience.
But the sentences of expectation
had abandoned the creative mind,
leaving the contours of a cursive hand
with nothing to write.
He bridged two coffee circles
with a half-mooned hairline
and filled the spaces below
with irises of joy.
Doodling his way down
the writer found his muse,
the artist beamed at the big picture,
for Mickey Mouse was born.
* For imaginary garden with real toads
** Photo Courtesy: Margaret Bednar