I wonder what ingredients a poet chops
Or secret spices for poems to dish out
I looked inside his pot to see if I can spot
Secret recipe, stuffs he mixes for poems that's top

First I saw blank canvasses in sizes, shapes and colours vast
Big and small, dark and bright, narrow and wide, just as right
Jumping all over inside, in colours dark and bright
"Original ideas" inspired by things and events in life

A trigger comes that grabs a poet's mind to squeal
A thing of beauty or a beast that catches and appeals
Velvety feel on skin, aroma that floats like a dream
Or a voice so sweet awakening sleepy spirit deep within

The poet thus begins mixing some potent words
Born from images flashed in his mind's valleys and fiords
Stirred passionately together with sentimental flavours
Folded, baked with emotion; then peppered with truth or flair!


Sir, would you prefer coffee or tea with that? Or just rhymes?