I spend my morning,
Sipping coffee (no surprise there),
gnawing breakfast (in bed), 
while reading poetry.
It is still.
As I scroll seeds 
Of insight from others' experiences,
Vulnerabilities and creativity.
I could be in Paris or Milan, 
Or in the Kimberleys;
I am transported with each line.
Inspiration poured into mine
soul. I feel I've lived a thousand lives
With every verse believed.
Relieved though, I'm safe at home, 
And the life I'm walking is my own.

poetry percolates
in the unconscious
waiting for a triggered start.

poetry then lays dormant in the body
until it's ready to surface
in the heart.

So, I was feeling tired this morn,
dizzily walking headlong into a heat storm.
unable to quickly reboot,
so I put five beans in my porridge soup.
the so-called 'magic beans'
didn't have the desired effect [insert scream],
but sent me back to bed,
with my arms wrapped around my head.