Sometimes, when the sun has gone to bed,
a can of words opens in my head,
too tired to stop them wriggling across my brain,
they leave slime and detritus, worry and pain,
a blot on the landscape of my weary creativity.
I carry them with me up the creaky
stairs and, as soon as my head hits the pillow, (unaware
that those wormy words are still wriggling there)
I fall asleep. Into the depths of darkness, they squirm,
aerating the soil of my dreams, crumbling from firm
to soft and mushy, fertile ground for words to flower
into stories and poetry. Long past the witching hour,
they blossom in the dark, their petals soft and scented,
beauties and beasts waiting to be regimented
into sentence and paragraph, line and stanza –
a poet’s imagination is a word extravaganza.
Kim M. Russell, 12th February 2020
Magaly has been running on her trampoline and talking to her fairy godchild about cliché, which she says is the place ‘where exhausted phrases go to die’ – I love that It metamorphosed into today’s prompt, in which we are taking one or more clichés and turning them into new poetry or prose (stories, articles, letters, etc.). I chose ‘the sun has gone to bed’, ‘a blot on the landscape’, ‘can of worms’, and ‘as soon as my head hits the pillow’, and the whimsical worms did the rest!