A Poem Inside

When there's a poem inside
And it's sneaking out,
It might make a little squeak
Or exclaim with a shout,
Sometimes with a holler
At other times a whisper,
At times with a crunch
Like lettuce in a crisper.

It's very spontaneous
With a little assistance,
Words chosen at first
Take the path of least resistance,
With quite a few readings
The words sort themselves out,
I'm happy with the result
Or knock it over with a clout.

It might land in a trash-heap
With potato peels and rice,
Or find the desk of a publisher
Who turns out to be nice,
And in most cases the writing
Will find a way to be fun,
Just one page or two
And then it's all done

Fibril_late;
5/12/09