Thinking Spot

[Southern Scarab]

Thinking Spot

In darkness, I walk the path pressed down, created by the  back and forth of my numerous footsteps before. Surrounded by the forest and the darker shadows cast, my feet walk forward fully aware where each step should go without the need of sight. The moonlight frost is brighter ahead where the path opens to planted fields and my eyes adjust to a lighter shade of night. I walk the edges quietly to the lone dying oak, looking into the sky, it’s leafless branches silhouetted by the moon seem to clutch around me. Finding my usual seat, a large exposed root, it’s bark worn and smoother caused by the wet stone of numerous sittings before. This is my thinking spot, the place where questions are asked, memories summoned and the universe becomes a wishing well.


The river breezes over the numerous shaped rocks where depths become shallows, the flows seeking each crevice for the path of least resistance. Like human breath on an instrument the rapids perform their symphony of fluid notes.  I hear the sounds of footprints being made in sandbars by nocturnal creatures.  The crickets and frogs sing bass and tenor in perfect harmony.  The wheat field becomes the dance floor for the fireflies above, egos flashing bright, calling lovers to the mating waltz.

Above, the moon is waxing crescent and endless stars shimmer tones of brightness.  The commercial planes fly in the lower reaches of the stratosphere, mostly north and south, but high enough they cannot be heard. Their numerous lights echo into the clouds colors of red and green.  

I sit in darkness to ponder.  I should find peace here, but my mind comes alive with awe and wonder. A thousand questions arise!  Often I can find no answers, just the burdens of secrets and mysteries.  I have now decided in this moment it's better to hush thoughts, rather enjoy not all the events that led to this moment, but the moment itself. That moment when my thinking spot becomes  holy ground and tears are allowed to flow.

Often without thinking, I still find myself talking to the heavens, sometimes to a God I'm unsure about, but mostly to my Mom. I don't allow divine claim on what's real or not, but I so enjoy the conversations.  

Too much tell and not enough show. It reads more like a journal or a diary entry than a poem, honestly.
I agree with eric_never that you should emphasize the nature of introspection itself, rather than describing point blank that you are inspired or feeling some type of communion. What's on your mind, and what about thinking it over in this particular place is poetic?

I guess it just begs a lot of unanswered questions. I'd like more 'what' if that makes sense :/ there's so much unfocused description.

That being said, you clearly have a very meaningful experience or feeling you'd like to express, you just need to introduce it in a more impactful, substantial way. Reorganizing your poem would go a long way as well. In particular,

...just the burdens of secrets and mysteries.  I have now decided in this moment...

is so sudden and blunt. 'then I felt this way' doesn't guide me through your experience, it just narrates it.

keep working on it, and thank you for the read