THE POETRY IN MOTION

Jack once saw an advertisement in a local paper for a big poetry competition. He loved writing poems sometimes and thought he would try his hand at it. He sat up all night trying to write the perfect bit of verse but could get nowhere. He crumpled up many bad attempts at writing the perfect poem. He threw them all in the waste basket underneath his desk in disgust and could just not get it right. He was up all night until the early morning hours trying to write his winning poem. Still his pen would not do its magic and the ink would never flow into the perfect rhythm and rhyme of a stunning award winning piece of literature. Eventually in the dead of the night he gave up the wasted exercise and left the piece of paper and the pen untouched on his desk. His wastebasket was filled to the brim with poor writing that he had discarded and thrown away. He turned off the light and went to a troubled night of sleep dreaming of that perfect poem which he never managed to write at all. In the darkness the pen was picked up by an invisible hand as the perfect poem had decided that things could not be left like this. His master's great poem could never go quite unwritten. And soon the pen was scribbling the perfect piece of verse on the blank paper. The poem had decided then and there to write itself if no one else would. After he had finished writing the magnificent piece of poetry for the great poet himself. The pen signed the poem ‘Anonymous.’ Then he put himself away in the pen case of the great writer and went to sleep himself. Satisfied with a job well done. The next morning the poet found the stunning poem signed ‘Anonymous.’ and could not believe his own eyes. What an historic piece of literature it was. What an amazing piece of poetry. Had he managed in his disturbed state of late night efforts to write the perfect poem after all? Truth be told he could not quite remember himself. Nonetheless he folded it up nicely, put it in an envelope, and sent it in to the competition judges. Much to his great surprise he got a letter from the paper a few days later. His poem had won the prestigious competition and he would be receiving the prize money soon, along with a front page publication of his award winning poem. He believed in magic after that. The magic hand of the poem that wrote itself. Some poems were just meant to be put on pen and paper. Some poems were just meant to be written after all. He smiled to himself. Poetry in motion. He was a great poet after all.