Summoned
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.
8 comments:
I sensed the need to write in this poem. I feel that often as well...not to write poetry but just to write.
I think you should (if you haven't already) put together an anthology of poems and some of your other writing. It seems to flow out of you!
What's so great about your poem is that I knew exactly what you were trying to convey and it needed no explanation!
Awesome poem!
Awesome! Thanks for sharing!
I like the poet grabbing for slipping reins, as though the words are getting away from her, and she must get control of her rush of thoughts. Very nice.
Oooh, me too! As a matter of a fact, I had to pause in prayer time this morning to write a nagging poem down so I could concentrate again. Ha ha.
Lovely poem
I loved it! I feel that pressure too, to let creativity out, and only then can I go on to do the regular stuff of life.
You said it perfectly!
I like this ... and the idea that the poem is the driver -- not the poet.
Post a Comment