Brummet's Conscious Blog

-- Poetry -- Today's poem comes to us from my father-in-law, Frank Brummet... in this poem he shares insight into the mental workings of a writer.  The Writer You pass on the street, he looks quite normal, Yet on closer inspection something is awry. With furrowed brow and restless eyes He is somewhere else, far removed. Busy creating, composting, constructing. He moves in a haze, his steps automatic,  His destination unsure or unknown. If you could see behind those eyes,  Excise the frontal, expose the brain, Therein a mass of waiting words, Partial sentences, tangled metaphors, Similes, musical sounds that rhyme, All milling about, eager to find The path that leads down the arm To the pen or computer keyboard. The gate opens, the current flows Onto the paper or over the screen. Then the editing, cold and cruel, Killing the trite clever phrases, Cut and shorten and rearrange, Making sense of original garble ...