For myself typically the problem isn’t finding words. Words I’ve got in abundance! The problem is finding words that I can force into some form of narrative. That’s where the tricky bits are, and that’s the subject of today’s poem.

So Many Words, So Little Focus

I feel the words rush through my mind,

In search of some release.

I try to shift them to the page,

Find for myself some peace.

But any peace is too short-lived,

For always there are more.

A jumbled, meaningless tumult,

An endless, numbing roar.

I catch a few, a sentence make,

From there a couplet spin.

They are too few the words I free,

To calm the storm within.

Now once again, the chaos comes,

I give myself to it.

I dance within the whirling gyre,

Though here I plainly sit.

I clutch and grasp and wrestle with,

The words within my mind.

And when at last I dare to look,

A finished verse I find.

And briefly then I know such peace,

Before it starts again.

The words return, they rush and roar,

And fill up my whole brain.

And so it goes, the wheel turns,

The cycle starts anew.

To write until the storm abates,

Is all that I can do.

Cheers, Winston