Creativity,  Poetry

Wordpile

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Wordpile, stacked, ordinary

 

Writing poems is like chopping wood

Before the sun comes up on a crisp November morning

I swing my pen with confidence towards a waiting sheet of paper

And listen for the thunk of ideas hitting the page.

I cross-pile the words, phrases and paragraphs 

And admire a growing stack of fuel 

Awaiting a spark of creativity to ignite 

A fire in the heart of a writer.

Ardis Mayo
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  • Rita Poirier

     at 

    I like the mental picture that your poem paints.

    • Ardis Mayo

       at 

      Thank you, Rita. Poetry writing is new to me. Who knew it would be so much fun?

  • Judith Scarborough

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    Thank you for this poem, Ardis! Well done for an early attempt 🙂

  • bev blaisdell

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    As one who experienced a chapter of chop-wood-carry-water, I appreciate the metaphor of chopping wood. Something meditative about the swing, the clean thunk, the sound of pieces falling to the side, the growing stack. A “spark” to stir the heart of a writer. Yes!

    • Ardis Mayo

       at 

      Thank you for your comments. It takes a woodchopping writer to hear what I am saying.