Poems often drift into my head as I drive to work, and I suspect they’re colored by the music I listen to on my short drive. Today was a mix of Fleet Foxes, Radiohead, and Iron and Wine. Here’s the result:
Ignoring the Summons
The demented dwarf of your anger
runs down the hill to ring the bell
wildly, and I stop chopping wood
a moment to listen. True love waits,
the crow, that dark-suited comedian,
laughs above me, perched in the tree,
surveying all. The peals of the bell
roil on, filling the valley and alerting
all that you summon me, but I learned
last time, so I plug my ears like Odysseus.
I pick up my ax as the crow flies away,
done with the valley, judging me as always.
Writing for Ghosts 
Nice medley of inspiration.
Great poem.
Why is it that the movement helps the creative juices flow. I get the same thing happen to me while driving, or on a train, or plain.
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