Writing Poetry - Jenny Hamon

A seed is planted in my brain
It rattles round and becomes a grain.
It germinates every now and then
And has me reaching for my pen.

The best ideas come to me
In early morning, about half past three.
To quickly scribble then is the key
Or sleep will not return to me.

As I go about my daily bread
Random ideas pop into my head.
I write them down while I remember,
While it’s still a glowing ember.

There is no rhyme or reason when
The wondrous ideas flow from my pen.
I really have to scribble my thoughts
Before the thinking process aborts.

The poetic juices begin to flow
The spark of an idea begins to glow
It will happen no matter where I am
In the bath or traffic jam.

I only know I must record
The vivid thought before it’s absorbed
Into the dark depths of my brain
Never to be recalled again.

So no matter where I be
I carry pen and paper with me.
I have to say that people stare
When I’m jotting down notes and riding my mare.

The thoughts that come thick and fast
I must capture before they’re lost
And when the poetic moment has died
I think no more, my brain is fried!

Jenny Hamon