A Prolific Me Poem by David Harris

In the quiet hours of the evening,
I sit at my desk
and set my imagination free
hoping to write one poem,
but then end up with three.
It is no good I have to confess
I am just a prolific me.
The poems are all different
and I never know what subject
will come to my fertile mind,
only that it will come in a rush
line after line after line.
I tried to slow down the process
by not picking up my pen,
and then just ended up
with lots of words
just dancing around in my head.
The more I tried to fight them
the more they multiply
and I just end up again
being a prolific me.


14 March 2011