Birth of a Poem

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Photo Credit: Thanks to Dewang Gupta @dewang for making this photo available freely on Unsplash 🎁 https://unsplash.com/photos/qNlQ5MJWZDg

The prompt for today challenged me to write a poem that recounts a creation myth and so, I thought I’d let you all in on the secret world of creating poems.

You see, each poem has a unique life form. You might think that I create poems, but actually more often than not, they create themselves, the words falling in to place with rhythm and order and beauty.

Writing poetry is an act of passion—writer and poem must come together in love and single-mindedness. I imagine if there were a mystical story of the creation of a poem, it might go something like this.

in the beginning: the birth of a poem

crisp cadence of sound bytes
dancing across the page;
marginal moments light
momentous mysteries
marching on.

letters swirls like atoms
forming ionic bonds.
how i cannot fathom
those molecular fronds
marching on.

yet unknown, the story
tumbles out in stages;
rolling rhymes unfolding,
memories outrageous
marching on.

ideas shift and shape,
pulling without tether
yet binding all the same
bringing us together
marching on.

the joyous pain birthing
small words that time sustains;
rejecting or rejoicing
the simple small refrain
marching on.

—a draft by Carla Jeanne Picklo Jordan

What is your passion? What keeps you marching on?

Day #6.5

sometimes my thoughts follow
a simple straight line
and end up in a singular place.
I’m hungry.
I’m thirsty.
I need chocolate.
even I love you.
straightforward.
easy to express.

sometimes my thoughts zigzag
here
there
every
where.
a million tiny dots
random
without order
a mess of points
without pattern
or any singular
unifying
element.
impossible to articulate
incoherent in context–
red, red, red, blue, green, yellow;
anger, fear, jealousy, despair.
Experiential.
Nebulous.

I suppose this is the reason
my thoughts don’t
always lend themselves
to expression.
yes,
perhaps it’s partially
because I tend to be
a quiet thinker.
But really,
who’s to say
whether a thought follows
a direct and orderly
linear path,
or an abstract
random path?

Sometimes I don’t even
know myself.