My mind is like a griddle
on which inspiration sizzles;
I let it gently fry and
turn it over
so neither side
will get burnt.

I’ve gotta cook it slow and steady –
and better wait until it’s ready
cause there’s a lesson I’ve learnt
from times before;
from when it looked all cooked and tasty
but its insides were still raw
so the inspiration was wasted
leaving my imagination insatiated,
somewhat unsatisfied and sore.

So this time I let it fry,
on the griddle of my mind
Until it’s done right to the middle
So I know that when I whittle down
into its many drooling layers
the plentiful things waiting there
will be the rich juices of words, rhythm and rhyme.