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Poem

My poems are conceived, not within the womb,
which long time now has been devoid of seed.
My poems are born from a need to be heard:
my thoughts, passions, sentiments and beliefs.

They start as fragments,
flecks of ash from my mind's abyss,
a restless volcano that never long sleeps.
The particles of ash collect and form together.
Feverishly I rush to absorb them all
as captured words on scribbled scraps of papers,
employing metaphor, play on word,
or sounds deliberately paced, and grace of rhythm.
I mold my poems meticulously to my image,
and then they emerge, fatherless but freed.

Each, my voice, shares her sisters' ways,
but unique, is cradled in the pages of my book,
where, satisfied with my labor, I can turn to them
and often look as a mother does on her infant babe.
Unlike, however, mortal children can do,
when I am through with them, they do not change,
and fully formed, they rarely disappoint.
As some have loved the fruit of my own flesh,
I hope they'll love my poem children too.

For Natasha L. Scragg's Throwback Challenge Poetry Contest

*This poem was posted in 2010, but I think I actually wrote it around 2001. I had been dabbling in poetry for less than a year at that time, and I had written so few poems that I would save them on decorated paper and read them again and again because I felt like I had created magic. Although I had played around with a few love poems and Christmas song parodies in my youth, I did not really see myself as a poet until after 2000 (when I was over 40 years old).

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