A Possession by an Unborn Poem

It’s Sunday night
and again, like other times before,
a poem seems to be echoing
through my mind
before even it’s been formed.
It’s just the hint of a poem
wanting to come forth -
to be birthed as it were.
The words nag and repeat
over and over in my mind
and I keep thinking,
“I’ll work on this later.”
but the poem keeps nagging
and repeating
and shaping itself
and in my mind,
I know it isn’t fully formed yet
the poem isn’t ready to be written…
ideas need to be flushed out better.
But the poem won’t be quiet.
I suppose you cannot shape a poem
or develop it within your mind.
You have to give it some kind of form
on paper or your computer.
That’s how it posses me, now,
this formless poem
yet to be -
the ghost of another poem.

By Bruce Whealton
November 2, 2009

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