Shaken into expression,
the poet must channel restlessness.
Word painter becomes vehicle
for emerging presence within.
Nagging at consciousness,
images buck for release.
Caught in whirlwind,
the poet grabs slipping reins.
Thought and image gel
as poem bursts into being.
Composition cries life
into once barren page.
Defined and articulated,
stress to harness energy subsides.
As sunset's blush tints the sky,
the poet returns to matters of man.
I'm in one of my poetic moods this morning. I want to share this poem with you today.
In this poem, I want to convey the sense that the poet is compelled to create the poem. It is almost like the poet has to go along for the ride and allow the poem to release its energy.