Sometimes, writing a poem is like giving birth or falling in love. It's hard, exciting, wonderful, follows a semi-predictable progression. It's intense and certain to yield results of a particular kind.
Sometimes it's like making waffles. There's a recipe. Skill counts. Practice helps. It's not exciting, and there are few epiphanies, but it works just fine.
Sometimes it's like making a friend, more of a gentle adventure but possibly including fireworks.
Sometimes it's like sleepwalking - hypnogogic visioning or auto-writing. Maybe there's channeling, maybe it's divine inspiration or demonic possession. More likely just engaging pathways that are usually operating only in the background.
Sometimes it's like looking through the dumpster for something that might have been thrown in there by accident. Crap and crud pile up, but you sense it's worth it to keep looking. You're going to need a shower and a uhaul at the end.
Right now I'm working on one like that. It doesn't even feel like an important poem - more comedic that grave. But there must be something there, I think, as I go back to the dumpster.
Question: What's it going to be like today?
mompoet: also making waffles (literally)