Inspiration often comes from unexpected places.

A lot of times I get ideas for poems
from the pages of Arizona Highways,
or National Geographic, or the voluminous
Sunday edition of the Boston Globe.

I can’t help myself, really.
I’ll just be reading along,
when some wonderfully descriptive word
will leap off the page and bat me on my nose,
like a man might whack his hyperactive
Spaniel with the same rolled-up paper.

Words like upslope and dither, churlish and brio,
numinous, effervescent and imbue,
Smack-smack-smack-smack-smack!

Impossible to deter, they continue their assault
for days, until I finally jot them down.
Then, and only then, will they relent.

But, truth be told,
it’s hard to build an entire poem around
a few words here or there —
no matter how pleasant-sounding or evocative.
(For example, how could I possibly work “serendipitous”
into a poem without it seeming forced?)

So most of these words just remain individual
lonely scribbles,
languishing naked on my clipboard,
lacking context to give them meaning.