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.