Day 11 of Poetry Month

Free flow is surprising and confusing and a delight, if and when it happens. It did today.

Hold, Stay, Flow

I see no words,

Only sounds mouthed silently.

A pattern full of clip-ped tones invades.

I wait for inspiration yet again

And receive no                                                                    clues,

Or only lines of complicated rhythms

Basted with colours and meter

But not for you or me to understand.

The flow, it goes, on and on and on.

I type with speed and typos

I see no end but feel the thread continue through the seconds, minutes, moments.

Her voice, my muse, is low and I can barely hear her

Though now the sounds of the outside world invade and I am losing reception.

And She is gone.

© Catherine Woods 2017