Monday, May 19, 2014


    Eyes closed, peaceful, semi-recumbent in
    his half-cocked easy chair, the poet sits
    and muses till at last apt words begin
    to flow into strict measures where each fits,
    and so a stream of thought meanders down
    the page, propelled by beat and rhyme to find
    whatever verb or adjective or noun
    may be most adventitiously aligned
    with the emerging current of discourse
    as thought discovers what it has to say
    through notions flowing from some occult source
    that now mysteriously find their way
    onto the page as ink flows from his pen,
    and when they’re done, the poet says, “Amen.”