That Sudden Realization Of Poetic Inspiration.
The Sudden Realization of Poetic Inspiration.
It comes over me
like a warm hug
in the midst of despair.
It burst like a meadowlarks song
in my endorphin racked brain.
These realizations of inspiration,
as fingers scrabble for
a pencil and some paper,
or the black keys that
open the mind
and spill their alphabet
on the window shining before me.
Creating a verbal beauty to behold.
Sometimes in a car, in a bar, in bed,
in the arms of another, or graveside,
my soul is moved to speak in loftier terms
then most common sentences spewed.
And so the pen dances
or the fingers pound out the rhythms,
that accompany the cavorting of a poem being born.
It came over me now as I read another's poems
jumbled thoughts jigsawed into a glorious picture,
of the topic offered there.
I cannot imagine the inability to express
my feelings on such a wondrous stage.
That kind of paraplegic body, mind and soul,
is what probably drives non-poets to
various vices and incessant hobbies.
Would a brutal killer who severs flesh,
become an asset to society at large,
if he or she had the option, the outlet,
to slice words of bottled up angst and emotions,
into many wondrous pieces
on the empty pages of their lives.
Would an athlete reach for higher aspirations,
becoming a dangling participle over the nets
and goals, bending and twisting a verb
into sheer beauty that astounds the fans.
Perhaps depression and failure is the absence
of the ability to express in simple words
the daily needs and desires that beset us.
I am but sponge for the muses who pour
the nectar's of delight in a joyous
inky flow through my soul.
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