Poetic Incubation
Here wood-shedding in the cave,
my mind seems to have gone into
an eerie state of suspended animation;
leaving words sitting around and chatting
as if they were in an induced drunken stupor.
When aroused, they seem to rise up
and hop onto a lexical merry-go-round;
or just sit there screaming as if in a dangling
seat of a stalled fairish wheel jammed in mid air.
Being poetically comatose is a revelation
of the vacuous nature of spiritless weaving of words
void of purpose—whorl pooling emptiness
sinking deeper into illusionary nothingness.
Pregnant poetic minds do not just exist; rather, they are
living realities of the fertilization of fertile wordings
anchored in endometrial contemplative cognitive growth.
The poem is not merely a mental ejaculation; rather
it’s the result of spiritual incubation in the mind’s womb
and when the Supreme Creator deems so, it is delivered:
The she-shed and man-cave are mere waiting rooms.
Copyright © Millard Lowe | Year Posted 2019
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment