Born Not Made Poem by Mary Champion

Some experts,
having no insight,
believe that a poem is built -
painstakingly,
one word at a time -
like a bricklayer
building a wall.
Each word,
like each brick,
carefully selected,
trimmed to fit,
colour-matched!

But no way!

A real poem is a living thing -
born whole
of emotion
not planned by the intellect.
It may need nurture,
polish,
gentle socialization,
even minor plastic surgery,
but it is a child of the soul
not the brain.
And only when it has been given space
to grow and mature
will the poet finally appreciate
its potential
or
understand its deepest meaning.