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What intimacy is its cause,perhaps an immaculate conception of words;too swift to comprehend,see or recognise.The moment is there and then is not.Gone with the wind the seed of idea remains, to germinate and gestate,fanned by a mental fragrance of elation.Slow,self-transcending a word into a phrase, a sentence to a strophe;a rhyme rides a waterfall of cadence,into a chasm of verse. Terse or long, the sonnet becomes a little song,struggles to arrive.Thrust forth upon my page;a bastard-born of pain in the realm of the mind,replete with thoughts inspiration thrives,discerns over- spills,to reveal then configure and emerge:a fragrance to dwell,stay and perhaps haunt another

Copyright © | Year Posted 2020

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Date: 10/28/2020 10:47:00 AM
Yes, sometimes just a word opens to door to a thought which leads to more. Creative work. Thanks for all the visits. Sara
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Brian Strand
Date: 10/28/2020 11:55:00 AM
Cheers Sara stay creative