Evolution of Inspiration
by Debi Swim
Just for arguments sake, let’s say,
there are a million words in English
to choose from, winnow through,
shift like flour, cogitate over for exactitude
of meaning, shades of consideration.
From a fevered few come the pure
elixir of, draughts of, casks of heady phrases–
ambrosial scrumptiousness. A potent breath.
Who whispers in my ear a magic incantation?
What sharp stab of pain birthed such beauty
that pierces my soul with splinters of grace?
A muse? A ghost? A fairy, elf or gnome? Gift of God?
Divine wind, Ecstasy, altered state of consciousness?
There must be an ether field of dead poets’ dreams
that seep into my insentience to school my tongue
in winsome ways of poetic petit-four delights.
Note: Written in response to Red Wolf Poems Prompts for Red Wolf Journal Chapter 17 Prompt 96.
Have you ever wondered, considering the infinity of poems one is capable of, where the heck they come from? Is there in fact a collective unconscious as Yeats believed? That we could retrieve this pool of meaning through reading, isn’t that marvellous? How the hell are we supposed to retrieve than through reading and writing, you tell me? So reflect upon all I have said. Write, see what you’ve retrieved.
Debi Swim writes primarily to prompts. She is a wife, mother, grandmother and happy WV poet. Blogs at georgeplacepoetrybydebiswim.