“Why don’t you write a poem about ‘this’ or ‘that’?”
That’s not how it’s done. I can’t pull words out of a hat.
I don’t control my writings. No, no. They control me.
Sometimes it drives, consumes. I have to let it be.
Even now I could stop, but my thoughts would haunt me about,
’till they’re swelling up my insides, bursting to come out!
At night it is the worst. I’m about to drift and dream.
“Yoo-Hoo!” it calls and taps me. Oh, how cruel, how mean!
I have to shed my covers and jump up from my bed.
I grab my pen and paper and let the words flow from my head.
You know it’s so electric, as I rub the sleep from my eye.
I get rolling, charged and heated. I couldn’t stop. Why try?
The clock is reading 2:30. I’m finally running slack.
Dearest notebook, don’t worry, some moonlit night, I’ll come sneaking back.
Note: I wrote this several decades ago, when the term “right on,” was in fashion. “Right on” has long since gone “right out” of vogue. Even though the term is out-dated, I still wanted to put it out there because I knew my fellow writers would relate to it.
“Write–On” was also the name of an English class I took in tenth grade, back in the 70’s. My teacher, Mr Goodchild, recognized that I had a gift for the written word and made me see it too. A special thank you to Mr. Goodchild and all the other teachers out there who care enough to make a difference in a young persons life.
Love you guys!