Writing Poetry-My Process

Empty pages glare at me Bright white sheets stare back mockingly Snuggled away in my den Thinking constantly about what to pen Hoping a good idea would pop into my head Useless ideas pop up instead Just static in my mind, drawing a blank Running on fumes from an empty tank A slight glimmer, an idea seems to sprout Eureka! My mind seems to shout I start to write down, feel a little tense I look down at my work, it doesn’t make sense Have to twist and turn a sentence here and a word Like trying to coral a unruly herd Now I am ready to commence The words start flowing like a flood As if a flower is starting to bud I scribble away, for what seems like hours Until I have lines of rhymes soaring like towers Pleased with what I have? No just yet Have to leave it alone, the paint is still wet I come back days later, and read what I have penned A few mistakes, sounds weird, it’s not the end Chop and change, add new lines here and there Exaggerate some words and add a little flair Now it is ready for all to see Hope it is good, for the people will judge