I once read a quoation – possibly Louis Armstrong? – that said finding tunes was easy, you just have to pluck them out of the air.
Sometimes poetry’s like that. Other times, it’s a flood that leaves you scrambling to find a pen, the back of an envilope, <em>something</em> to get the words down with, or onto, while their hot and pumping and unstoppable.
And sometimes poetry is like being an angler. You put yourself in the right place at, hopefully, the right time, bate your hook and cast out your line, but life only knows if you’re actually going to catch anything.
I’ve been feeling like that last one a lot lately. Hunting and gathering for poetry and not coming up with much. Still, July’s VoV show gave me some inspiration. It’s nice to hear the different styles of poetry that people do, the way they turn lists into stories or take the bones of legends and weave them into something new.
I’ve got a twist on the Barrow Gang ghosting around the edges of my head now.
I think I’m going to go chase it. 🙂