The page has remained mostly silent today.
I normally write until the poem forms itself
From out the cream colored paper.
But, today, I find that the words
Continue to drown in Sunday’s
Blast of hurricane wind that sent pillars
Of rain tumbling upon me as if knocked
Down by Samson. It took most of the day
For my muse, thrashing in the fluid air,
To reach me and gargle up these lines.
A. J. Hayes
Give a poet a pen