The Origin of Poems
My brain is a pump
Expressing words,
Squeezing them out of
Memories and old magazines and
Things I heard on TV or
iPods and transistor radios and saw
On billboards or in newspaper ads
And in overheard conversations at
Lahieres and Burger King,
By the pool in Spring Lake and under
The threatening expressway in
Northeastern Philly
And sometimes where no words
Dwell: in forests humming with
Unseen bees and the early bark of dark
Birds leaving the hungry nest
And in the startling morning songs
Of cardinals and red robins,
Yanking the sun out of night with
Their unimaginable strong
Voice.
Linda Brown Holt
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