Cancer unlocked my poetry muse that had lain dormant for several years. But a poetry workshop I attended about six years ago sent that muse hopping into places I never would have otherwise ventured.
This was not your ordinary "workshop." It was more like sitting in the middle of a whirlwind as a poet named Thom from Australia spent 3 hours hyperactively pouring out music, extemporaneous poetry, and many, many prompts for us to write our own poetry (which we were to do WHILE the music was playing and he was speaking, speaking, speaking with his darling accent). Most of the poetry he recited from memory or made it up on the spot. Several times he read from poetry books and would call out, "Did that one speak to anyone? Do you love it?" If you nodded or raised your hand, he would tear out the page, toss it to you and say, "It's yours--you own it!"
I sat on the floor for those 3 hours except for one time when I got up to read a poem. Normally I need a quiet place to write, but my head was spinning with ideas! :)
This is the poem I read out loud, which was prompted by a 3x5 card: one side said "loss" and the other side said "generosity".
I die a little every day
I don't know how to stop it
My burden is so heavy
I'm afraid I'll have to drop it
And then I see the outstretched hands
Surrounding me with hope and trust
They lift me with their light and love--
The burden crumbles into dust
And this one I wrote at the end to give to our Aussie poet, sort of a minimalist summary of the evening:
a twinkle in the eye
a moonbeam in the sky
a place to write and fly