Here the blank sheet of paper
Stubbornly it remains empty
Pristine slightly off white lined
Waiting for a word or twenty

White the shade of nothingness
Can not pique my interest
If it wanted to entice
It has surely failed the test

Perhaps if it were softly blue
And with pretty flowers edged
From my lazy hazy head
A few lines might be dredged

Possibly a shade of pink
Suits my mood a little better
Tempting thoughts out of my head
But I can’t form a single letter

All the colours of the rainbow
Could explode before my eyes
Still my pen will lie untouched
No poem will be my prize

Yet many ideas are swirling
Desperate to be expressed
Jostling for my attention
Each one claiming they’re the best

I can sense letters fighting
Tumultuous in their rage
Waiting for me to unfurl
Their shapes across the page

Spiky harsh consonants
With soft round vowels vying
To turn into this poets words
Write me first they are crying

All at once I seek some order
My mind must be organised
But each time I succeed in this
I still find myself surprised

The dance of inspiration
Draws with a flourish to its end
One idea has crystallised
And this poet grasps her pen