When a poem is begging to be written, I go into what appears to be a sort of semi-trance as I focus on an idea that is forming within my mind. Writing poetry, in my case, involves delving into the aura of an idea to the near exclusion of all else. Anyone who knows me can tell that I'm writing a poem by the absent responses I give and by my detached stare.
All the while, I am investigating the temperature inside the poem, as well as the lighting, and the overall feel of it's environment. I love to reveal these details by inference whenever possible rather than by direct statements of fact. To do this, my must live within my poem as it moves and grows and takes on shape.
In Echoes, Neo-Victorian Poetry, there is a poem titled Fox. It took me three weeks to complete that poem, and each time I approached it, I had to dive back down inside of it until I could see all that was in there, feel the coldness on my skin and the sand beneath my feet, and so on. Only when I got to that level could I write.
Essentially, I let a poem lead me on in it's direction while keeping a careful eye to the rhyming scheme, the meter, and the apparent intent of the piece. I edit as I go along on this journey, laboring with the choice of words and their application, so that the clearest possible images are there in my poem. So, as to my process, there it is for all to see.