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.
