How do you do it

She asked
With her customary
Lack of preamble.

Now that
I replied
Is an excellent question
And the greatest mystery
Of them all.

It can start with a word
That you’ve glimpsed, overheard
Or that simply popped into your head.
You might get an idea
That will give you a steer
But you often just go where you’re led.

Could be sparked by a question
A casual suggestion
A challenge, request or a dare.
Some can summon the muse
Any time that they choose
(Which the rest of us think is unfair).

Poems sometimes arrive
Fully formed and alive:
Get the thing written down and you’re done.
Or they may stretch your powers
To the limit for hours.
You never can tell. That’s the fun.

What I seek
Is that slender splinter of truth
That gets under your skin
And begs to be worked out.
That’s all a poem really is.

And on a good day
A shard of that splinter
Gets left behind;
A constant presence
That never quite leaves you alone.

She looked at me.
Oh.
So you don’t
Really know?

2 thoughts on “How do you do it

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