When I’m poetically motivated, I


Ride the chariots of clouds in the sky to

Net elusive nouns,


Chase brilliantly golden, crisp, yet delicate autumn leaves

To entrap those adjectives,


Trip the light fantastic with high winds to find

Some rare personification,


 Sizzle and frizzle with my sausages searching

For some bee-buzzing onomatapaeia;


Move mountains and plough through dictionaries

To massage in those metaphors;


Cook curious cakes and even pickle putrid pears

to entrap my appetizing alliteration;


Scour the world, beat the bushes, capture and kill

Yes, all this for those vanishing verbs;


Swiftly and lightly ride on those rumbling tumbling waves

to arrest an evasive adverb;


Then I’ll tango a mango, and tussle a muscle

to access assonance;


But to get my rhythm

 I’ll dance, hum, sing or simply whistle –



Well, doesn't everyone?



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By Josie Whitehead

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