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Endless Possibility

A poem about a bibliophile seeking comfort in the familiarity of the unknown. See if you can spot all the literary clues to authors embedded inside.

By Andrew C McDonaldPublished 4 years ago • 3 min read
Endless Possibility
Photo by Héctor J. Rivas on Unsplash

Slipping feet into my favorite slippers,

I make a drink.. Southern Comfort .

Carefully cradling it in my hands,

I pad down the hallway -

My personal corridor to eternity;

Stretching to a doorway to everywhere,

Every when

Opening the door I take it in.

Drawing a deep breath,

Olfactory senses assaulted,

Nostrils distended to breathe it all in;

My eyes close for a moment,

Suspended in a luxurious timelessness.

Atmospheric blend of myriad sensations

Caress my skin with a gossamer touch.

Slightly musty;

Glue, ink, leather, paper;

Crisp, yet comforting.

Step into the cool, dry room;

Enter a galaxy of imagination.

Possibility upon possibility…, endless

Portals to countless universes

Floor to ceiling stacked, shelved.

Slowly my eyes,

Closed in contented contemplation,

Open…

My gaze sweeps across the room.

Dim lights highlight favorite destinations;

Drawing my gaze as flame does a moth.

There a portal to Barsoom,

Where in my youth I fought four-armed white apes;

Battled my way across red sands

Side by side with a swordsman supreme

As we made our implacable way

To a woman beyond compare.

Fighting to win the ultimate prize

In a city floating wistfully on a bed of Helium

As back home an apeman swings through trees

On his own trek into a jungle of legend

I espy a wormhole to a galaxy far, far away

Where a fledgling republic fights

A war, long, hard, against an implacable empire

Bent on absolute power;

Determined to rule all regardless.

No thought for the welfare of the people.

Raising my hands like a batter awaiting a pitch,

Pursed lips make a vrooommmm sound

As I take a mighty swing with a saber of light

Subject by subject …

Fact to fiction ..

Real to fantastical.

Anne fixes rice in a blood drenched

Gothic New Orleans as I take a Stand for

Good under the dome with Abigail

Whilst strangers become watchers in midnight lightning.

A child sends his reacher into lone battle against evil;

Hulking yet gentle giant wading into the fray,

Taking on foes he never sought out

Next to where a sand ford washes some flowers

Onto a table placed by a davenport.

Entering this universe of imagination,

Stepping into a plethora of creation

Unequaled in reality.

Ringed lords fly atop fearsome dragons as elves

Shoot literary arrows into my soul.

A dwarf armed with a crossbow

Commits patricide from a hidden cleft.

In a castle perched upon a lonely crag

A maiden leans from the highest window,

Peering forth longingly - hoping to spy her knight

Chivalrous charging to her rescue upon

Black destrier bedecked in shining armor.

Patiently awaiting my attention,

My favorite mistress beckons enticingly.

Sliding toes through plush carpets ,

I approach, slowly, smiling in anticipation;

My body eager to partake of her wanton comforts.

Gifting her a light stroke on one arm

I settle into the embracing luxury

Of my plush, leather armchair -

my body held sweetly. I am cradled

Between the soft arms

Of the mistress who calls me her true lazy boy.

Sighing, I squirm slightly

Finding just the right position

Back fitted into divot waiting for my presence.

My bottom cupped perfectly

As the arms of the woman I love

Entwine around my body.

Together, blissfully swaying in slow dance,

We glide to music of the universal soul.

Reaching to the table near at hand,

I set out on a trail to explore the vast unknown.

Settling back in the comfort of my own library,

My mind wanders once more

To the marsh and beyond

Where the Crawdads Sing.

********

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About the Creator

Andrew C McDonald

Andrew McDonald was a 911 dispatcher for 30 yrs with a B.S. in Math (1985). He served as an Army officer 1985 to 1992, honorably exiting a captain.

Never mind. I give up.

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    Written by Andrew C McDonald