I stole some work time at sunrise
to watch a fattened raccoon
lumber across the yard to
an ancient oak carved long ago
as a tribute to her ancestors
Does that make me a robber?
Or is it living in the moment?
I’ve been known to steal a whiff from
lilac blooms on a neighbor’s bush
growing by the sidewalk where
I walk home from the park,
Does this make me a burgler?
Or grateful for the scent?
I steal ideas for paintings
from Pinterest and artists I love
I steal words and phrases and even ideas
from writers and poets as well
Does this make me a thief?
Or is this creative process?
This poem was inspired by Austin Kleon’s book Steal Like an Artist.
The NaPoWriMo prompt for day twenty-eight is to write a poem that contains a series of questions.
Photo of a carving in the back yard is from my personally collection.