Sometimes the words hide
From those of us who often
We are left adrift, bereft,
With empty pages where belong
Delights, emotions, fears, images.
It becomes a time to wallow
In every medium, imbibe all
The different expressions,
Performances available
The mind begins to percolate
With newfound creativity
Ideas which may be distilled
Into work whose focus is
Breathtakingly original in
Its content, measure, and scope.
The borrowed quiet chased,
Captured, in a solitary moment
Away from this and that
Where a simple notebook catches
Jottings before the thoughts
Swim rapid away, is another
Form of what is needed to stoke
The flame of generation
In a brain no longer merely
Content to reveal the secrets
It has long sorted and contained.


© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan

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