The Poet's Work

before the poet can invite the muse

he must make room for her

empty the infinite span of his imagination

until the dull pressure of the void

black like a starless sky on a cloudless night

ripens the fruit of which he draws the creative juice

then on some very special occasions

like slithering tentacles of light

an idea is born, faint at first

on the fertile soil of perfect silence

the double helix of light takes root

and the oh so delicate notion levitates 

to the realm of consciousness

under the auspice of total abandon

resting in the peace of his artistic center

the poet sprinkles the colorful dust of human experience

onto the insight still fleeting at best

thus captured, the poem's essence is engendered

through a painful labor of total concentration

in a solitude so deep only a poet can bear

for now for him nothing else exists 

but this tender, fragile apparition

gently nudged from the grasp of his soul

under the solemn warmth of inspiration

the poet then starts painting with words

a  hesitant sketch not unlike a shadow at first

then bolder substance as the details unfold

through the spectre of his soul

resonant, vulnerable and bare

the poet shapes impressions through talent

At last long-sought words coalesce into verses

as the poet suffers the indomitable task

his quest to find meaningful descriptors

to illuminate that which cannot be described

The poet knows that the gift of his poem

is but a crude offering to the altar of his public

of that vision of perfection he was able to conjure

But he takes solace in a poet's expectation

that sharing the fruit of his intimate efforts

will spark the reader's imagination and passion

so that of exquisit sentiment and elegant image

the reader in turn weaves his own fabric

as the poem reflects in the mirror of his own soul

 

Author's Note

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