turning left instead of right,
talking instead of listening,
waiting and waiting
for just the right porous moment
to spill our hearts onto the page?
Sometimes in the morning,
I'll find a poem
nestled like a starling in some
yet raucous and so hungry.
These fledglings scrounge for seed,
rather like a writer
with too many words,
too many stories,
and not enough poetry.
Today's OctPoWriMo poetry prompt was a little hard to dive into -- simply the word "porous." So I went online at random to find PoetryPrompts and this enchanting picture -- which then reminded me of those mental journeys we take when we write. Don't ask how I found this poem. It's a mystery!