My Poetry

Sometimes at 3 AM in my dreams.

Sometimes awake in my visioned

imaginings, a found memory perhaps.

Sometimes it arrives with the wind

or on the wing, such a revolutionary

awakening. An eye-catcher, which I

may have passed and ignored a hundred

times before. That unexpected knock at

the door. A single word in a book,

sometimes, is the proverbial bolt of

lightning out of the blue. I could say

it happens that way come sunshine

or rain on any given day. It comes to

me in a garden variety, this tossed salad

of poetry. The lines may find a rhyme, or

climb the staircase of my mind unevenly.

There’s a leak in the roof of my reality.

A bucket underneath to catch the drippings

one by one is good enough for me. Only

sometimes, mind you.

Chris Hanch 4-18-18