Sometimes, but seldom is a poem inspired by one solitary spark...
That is why I might say something like
"this poem was inspired in part by..."
Such as this one!
It started partly from yester-dusk's walk
beneath frayed heaven's...
...and sunset snagged on pussy-willows...
and perhaps partly from this...
Partly from heavens dusk-frayed or dawn-beaming
Partly from pictures that waft, echo-soft
Partly from petals that ride a tide, streaming
Into the future from places long-lost
Partly from doing and partly from dreaming
Carefree indulgence and weighing the cost
Partly the music but partly the quiet
Wishes and wonder’s entangled heart-strings
Purple and tangerine sky-garden riot
Partly the falling and partly the wings
Partly the perfume of lilac and violet
Pressed between pages of soul-treasured things
Partly the parting and partly the greeting
Partly the mys’try that rides on the morn
Partly the baby and childhood so fleeting
Partly the beauty of weathered and worn
Partly the hillside that offers free seating
To witness ways that a poem is born
Partly the working, the playing and praying
While we are waiting for all that is not
Partly the leaving and partly the staying
Partly the weaving with ribbons of thought
Partly the grieving and part hip-hooraying
This is the way that a poem is wrought
Partly the teaching that turns into learning
Love’s hug-tug luggage to trouble and please
Partly the reaching and partly the yearning
Where moment-bubbles turn to memories
Partly the constant rush of no-returning
Pouring through touch with such vexatious ease
Partly fulfillment and part expectation
Grand Possibility’s mind-boggling ‘might’
Partly the picture that waits for persuasion
From places only spelled ink brings to light
Partly the pleasure of the invitation
This is the way that a poem takes flight
Partly the heartache and partly the laughter
Partly the bitter to better the sweet
Partly before, but I’d say more, the after
When brunt of being and fantasy meet
Partly the meadow hung from heaven’s rafter
Partly the hard-knock far from easy-street
Partly the haste with which twilight comes stealing
Partly the startling taste of moment-sums
Partly the no-time-to-lose summer-feeling
Partly the lingering over last crumbs
Partly the wounding and partly the healing
This is the way that a poem becomes
© Janet Martin
