Writing from the brain alone.

There are wonderful advantages to joining poetry groups, which lend themselves to pier reviews, mutual support, and shared, evocative ideas, to name a few.  I am thoroughly enjoying the online groups I've joined, where the learning curve is both challenging and exciting.

In a recent online group, someone asked a fascinating question: "Can a poet write using the brain alone?"  Hmm ...  Well, I was once dared to write a poem on the spot, without sufficient time to tune into my deeper muse.  The idea was presented as "You should try to write a poem a day."  Though intriguing as an experiment, the following poem was the result:

Coconuts

Fifteen thousand coconuts
Fell on a dead man's head
And why he lay there no one know
Till suddenly he said,
“Why pound me so with coconuts?
Just what do you expect?”
He then got up, wiped off his dirty
Arms and legs and left.

It is a curious poem, and not one that I readily own as representative of my work, but there it is.  I have sometimes written impromptu pieces, but those spontaneous poems were generally driven but a sudden deep insight or an unavoidable reaction to some external stimuli.  Such was the case with the following poem:
       
When None Command

By surging sea and force of wind
A tattered vessel floundered in
Where coral reef performed the rest
In ripping wide her wooden breast.
From timber scream to cracking mast
Her form dismembered to the last
And on the waves her pieces reached
An aftermath of slumber, beached.
She is a silent reprimand
To those who sail
When none command.

Though there are poets who can adhere to a schedule of writing a poem a day, or near to that, I cannot write merely to be writing.  I must wait until the ideas, feeling, and all that goes into my poetry are ripe.  That is when I begin to write its elements down, to toy with it, and to struggle with it until it is as it should be.

At the moment, I am struggling with a very challenging poem, and while I can fully see the image in my mind,  I still cannot completely fathom it.  I keep asking "What is it trying to say?  Where is it going?"  I have a strong suspicion that the poem has some profound point to make, which is still evolving, and that it is not yet ready to declare itself.

For the time being,  I'll take whatever scraps come to me while I wait for the whole of it.  To be true, I am a little jealous of those who can write on a whim, or compose on a daily basis.  However, in  answer to that wonderful question about writing from the brain alone, my answer is "Yes, if I have to, but otherwise, no."