To write a poem
You must pretend to sleep,
Sitting up
With a pen,
For if you jump up
To catch the Muse,
All is washed away
Like a dream upon awakening.
There are no better lines
Than those in dreams.
Sleep opens to visions and
Images to truths untold as dreams slip
Into the darkness of the rising sun.
Trance is a collage of words
Dissipating in a fog if jostled,
Fluttering like butterflies
Caught in a net ready to escape.
Mindless chatter forming maxims
Quenched by quiet rumination,
Taking form in rhyme and meter.
In dreams the Muse tells secrets.
Poets can never sleep.
Copyright © 2017 Barbara Harris Leonhard
Image: Pixabay.com
Extraordinary Sunshine Weaver 
oh this was amazing… absolutely amazing
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Thsnk you so much!
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I tried to find your site. I was told it is deleted.
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I added audio. Hope you got to hear it, too. It’s fun to record the poems!
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Beautiful 😍
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Thank you, Richa. I added an audio file recently. Hope you liked that! It’s such fun.
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Beautiful poem! I love the last line and the paradox with the second line – so true to the attention that poets pay to both the internal and external world, consciously and not. I appreciate hearing you read your poems, too.
Thank you for following my blog!
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Thank you for the feedback. I appreciate it!
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Simply amazing. The way you describe a poet’s efforts to catch a line that is floating about and make it tangible.
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Thank you so much! I’m happy the poem spoke to you!
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