Learning to Write


He taught me poetry before
I was ready to parse the line,
and so the metered sounds captured
my mind, and the gallant knight sought
El Dorado on “a ribbon
of moonlight,” “over a purple moor.”

Caught by words, he gave life to mind,
style to imagination,
and magic to my growing world.
I heard the knell and it summoned
me to neither heaven nor hell,
but to a world alive with sound.

“Write” he said but I could not – yet.
Later another said I should,
so I tried as he suggested;
wrote about my world and its wealth:
ideas and scenes of wonder,
illuminated by my mind.





Writing

​
When it comes, it’s clichéd lightning,
bright, glowing and full of profound 
nonsense, but then something happens:
a window opens to my mind;
I see its wondering sight and 
it flows across my eyes, giving
visions of roads and moors over
the world and landscapes of my mind.

The time has come to set it down,
when it is happening, not yet
and done.  Your tense is not mine, but
they all flow together; paper
creates unreal permanence for
living in a world of mixed tense.
Now, then and soon merge into a
timeless time where all is possible.