For Want of a Pen
Some poems arrive drenched in sunlight. Some are torrential. Once a poem arrived on my doorstep, lingered for a moment, then left for want of a pen.
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Some poems arrive drenched in sunlight. Some are torrential. Once a poem arrived on my doorstep, lingered for a moment, then left for want of a pen.
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Terrific, Paul. Possibly your own 'Kubla Khan'.
The story of that poem is that Coleridge was in full flow, and somebody knocked on his door and he answered it and forgot the rest of the poem when that person had gone.
But isn't it interesting how some poets don't write poems - they 'arrive'. So our task is not to allow them to escape, if we can possibly help it. But having no pen, Paul, is not a great excuse!
I don't write a lot of poems and now I know why.