Poetry Friday: The Poets’ Room

THE POETS ROOM

has nothing in it.
No comfortable furniture,
no TVs, voices,
clocks ticking, nothing
except beats of air and blood
pulsing through your lungs.

You take a clean breath
and quietness comes in.

Your favorite films start flaring
on theatres of walls, whenever
you are brave enough
to chase your images
with words.

In a future with few blank walls,
libraries are hushed museums,
where crowds devour your books.
Others enter,
startled, tremulous.

Back to the Poets Room.
The bare room,
friendly in a dismal
daring way.

Here you can eat rocks,
jump precipices
and always recover, provided
you have pen and paper
to catch you.

Judith Pordon