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About This Author
 Writing poetry allows me to exercise my imagination and share it with others. I strive to write for the benefit of the reader using carnival fun mirror images of my life's experiences.
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| It was many years ago when a close friend said to me, He admired my landscape paintings, measured yet care-free, He said his boy scout troop had the opportunity to start, Awarding his young troop members the merit badge for art. He asked if I would demonstrate the technique of my craft, Then instruct a few classes in which the syllabus I'd draft, It sounded like fun, and would sound impressive on my resume, We'd meet in a grade school lunchroom at a specific time and day. I arrived at the school and realized the great number that would attend, Not showing was an option, but I'd made a promise to my friend, About fifty children running, laughing, and aged about eight or ten, I made a mental note not to do anything like this again. I set up my easel, arranged my paints, then introduced myself, The children kept rampantly playing as if they were mindless elves, Face to canvas, breathing deep I explained what I wished to coax, I spoke of emotion and feeling, then delivered a few bold strokes. I swirled in the sky, fired in the mountains, and lay the foothill fog, Strokes for the cabin, water, trees, and moss on an old fallen log, When finished I turned to find those kids that had been running wild, Silent, wide-eyed, and frozen still as if each were a statue of a child. Suddenly they broke into applause, and I felt like I would faint, I gave away the painting, and inside felt warm and quaint, Many youngsters signed up for the classes I would happily teach, It's the joy of helping others this simple poem is meant to preach.
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