By Sandra Topp
My poems come to me I can’t let them go
I grab for a pen, thinking why is it so?
I sit up in bed and turn on the light,
What am I doing? it’s the middle of the night.
Or, I’m driving in traffic, and as the lights turn to red
A catchy little phrase just pops into my head,
The light turns to green and off I must go,
Can’t turn off the words, can’t slow down the flow
I have to pull over, flashing lights I flick on
Don’t want to cause trouble, but don’t want the words gone.
Scribble them down quickly, in a way I can cipher
When I sit down to transcribe with the electric typewriter.
I sometimes wish I could switch off my brain,
Then quickly regret even thinking that strain
No, please don’t let that happen, keep my faculties intact
Words, please don’t leave me, please keep coming back.
I will promise to nurture and cherish each line
That springs into my head, and claim you as mine.