I’ve never studied
What the Poets say
Nor worried much
How they place their words
Or why that way
I do not know
How to write a sonnet
I am not sure
What makes pentameter
Iambic
I hope that’s OK
If nothing comes
Find a prompt
(Photographs usually work.)
Start again
Breathe
Quiet mind
Write what comes
Don’t argue with the words
It’s OK to not like what they say
Write them anyway
It’s OK to not have the right words
Write down the wrong words
The right ones can be found later
Wait or pause whenever it feels
Like the words aren’t coming… yet
Or the meaning isn’t right… yet
And the right way isn’t present… yet
Sometimes
I know
Sometimes not
Which will touch
Which will not
Surprised, too
Often
By how they are read
By what is seen
By others
I’m no brave soul
Blazing a path of wisdom
For others to follow
Such youthful fantasy
I love to follow the arc
Luxuriate in the sensation
Experience the emotion of tone
Map out the journey of my eye
Through the continents of shapes
Beauty
Not because I think I am important
Or I have something important to say
It’s just the way the words come
And I’m just fine with that
