Fishing for Poems

Selecting an idea I sit down.
My pen slides across
the smooth, unspoilt surface
of the page.

Ideas float to me as
I luxuriate and drift
in the silence of
unawakened thoughts.

Words shape and
reshape like clouds.
I let my pen wander until I
catch a poem of value.

My pen hooks on an idea
reducing suddenly to nothing.
Ideas of worthlessness and inadequacy
bubble up towards me and
I wonder why I bother.

Then I remember.
Poetry takes me to a place
where clothes lines
are ballrooms of dancers
whirling to an unknown tune.

Everydayness of life drifts away.

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