The Poem

It starts out nicely,
theme in place,
vocabulary shaping up,
expressing the recognisable;
thought patterns intelligent and familiar,
emotions predictable.
So a poem progresses,
colluding in control.

It deviates surprisingly - 
I know not where it goes.
From depths unsounded
truths I have not known emerge.
Metaphors not predicted
tell stories as yet unhinted.
This poem leads to territory
ever before uncharted.

Psychic energy underlies
whatever chooses exposure.
Supposed knowing reveals unexpected depth,
assumed light illuminates the hidden.
For what, for whom exists the poem
with its unanticipated reach
and often untold, stubborn,
shocking newness?

© Janet Henderson 2013