The Eternal Question
“Where do you get
your ideas from”?
I
wish there was an easy answer.
A
six second soundbite of wisdom
laced
with humility and self-deprecating humour.
The
truth is, we don’t know.
Some
poems arrive fully formed,
gift
wrapped and special delivery.
A
turn of the head and there’s a poem!
The
opposite of a pickpocket.
Some
crawl into your sub conscious,
curl
up for the winter
cocooned
safe, sipping from your soul,
maturing
as they hibernate.
Other
poems are puzzles.
Hints
and clues, seemingly unrelated.
Cryptic
breadcrumbs that one day make sense
like
solving a Rubik Cube for the first time.
Some
poems are minxes! A slow, slow striptease
of
scented scarves, kisses blown your way
on
suggestive breezes. Glimpses of each
delicious part
tantalising,
until you assemble the full picture.
Inspiration
can be a headline or heartbreak,
the
whirlwind that kidnapped Dorothy from Kansas
or
a waking dream to escape boredom.
Sometimes
they walk through the door on two legs.
Some
poems are in the workshop,
Others
on the cutting room floor.
A
few are buried deep in secret graves and
we
will never tell where.
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