Poems are easy
First break into the cash point
On Mount Olympus
Where the Muses live
And enroll in their course in
Unicorn herding.
If they don’t run them
Any longer, then beckon
Their huge flying horse.
Grab hold of its reins.
Tell it you’re writing poems.
It’s called Pegasus.
Sit between its wings,
Then rise up into the air
To study its clouds.
Ask it what they’re for –
Sculpted mists tinged with gold light;
Expired breaths of trees.
There may be treasure
Deep in their thick, white layers.
A concealed nugget –
Something no one’s seen,
The nucleus of nothing…
A sense of wonder.
You’re levitating.
Maybe it’ll change the world
If you can catch it.
Clouds disintegrate.
You’ll have to catch it in time
To fit words to it –
Whatever it was:
An ethereal beauty,
The secret of life,
Some immortal kiss
Or was it in your mind’s eye
This elusive thing…?
Each poem written
Has something hidden in clouds
Of floating language
Something no one knew
Before it flew into their mind
And they wrote it down.
A special something
You go on dreaming about
When you’ve woken up.
Heathcote Williams