My poems on paper were ever
a bit of a mess —
arrows pointing here and there,
added and removed as line
breaks slid forward or back.
A list of alternate words
and phrases had to be scrawled
about the margins or at the bottom,
and question marks abounded,
the nuts and bolts of creation.
Yet they came together, as surely,
as the neat lines now on my screen.
They came together and I named
them ‘poem’ and wrote another
on the next piece of paper.
Stephen Brooke ©2016
It's true. Stuff rarely just flows out.