Where did all this come from?
Where did it all begin?
Don’t let me sit here wondering now
I don’t know where it eventually ends
I put the words down on the page
I let them simmer in the light of day
There’s nothing really stopping me when
I type them down to make them stay
I can’t let go of this little thread
It spins itself as I watch it fly
My fingers touch the hallowed page
The light goes on and I start to say
The things I’ve thought
The way they’re made
There’s nothing here that can’t be said
I won’t slow down or go around
It’s through the wall I step again
Did you see what I had to say?
Do you think there’s better way?
Let me know and I won’t deny
I caught you watching so you can’t pretend
I’m living the dream as you walk on by
I’m happy in this place we’ve never been
Writing for me is pretty much a spontaneous indulgence. Knowing how to stop having fun is impossible. Well, I do require sleep and sustenance. Still, I love weaving a poem as it comes into my head one line at a time. Sometimes there is a basic floorplan to follow. Other times it is a pure “stream of consciousness”. Either way it’s all spontaneous.