A writer writing a poem about writing poems.
Where do ideas come from, where do they go?
They are surely as fickle as the errant snow
Sometimes they arrive like a sudden storm
Other times one or two is the norm
I can be walking or working or anything more
Whether I’m far too busy or being a bore
They come and they go, never quite the same
But to each and every one I give a name
A story or poem or even a game
Each one could possibly lead to fame
So I write and chronicle and jot them all down
From the darkly serious to the whimsical clown
Stories of heartbreak and love so sweet
Stories to move you up off your feet
A world of fancy or maybe sci-fi
You won’t ever want to say bye bye
But end they all must, I’m afraid to say
Tomorrow, though, is a whole new day
So I am thankful for all the ideas that come
To not accept them with grace would be quite dumb
And for as long as this brain of mine works
I will continue to reap my imagination’s perks
Fear not then, the ideas that fall
And just be glad you had any at all!
Thank you for listening.