Where does poetry come from?

Putting Will to bed tonight, I followed our usual routine:
  • negotiate toy acquisition
  • settle in
  • re-negotiate toy acquisition
  • talk and sometimes pray
  • book, song and/or story
  • kisses
  • lights out
  • exit stage as fast as possible
But tonight was a little bit different.

When telling Will his story, I found a rhythmic, driving rhyme and a whole original story rolled out in near-perfect metre for 10 minutes or so.

Here's a sample ...
Cowboy Peter and Hero Will
Lived in a house at the top of the hill
And they loved to play
Every night and day
In the field at the foot of the hill.

I didn't intend to tell the story in rhyme. I didn't plan the rhythm or the plot. But it appeared.

Where did it come from? Where does poetry like this come from?

Some poetry is the result of hard work. Shaped. Crafted. You can smell the sweat of the artist laboring over the words. But this poetry wasn't like that.

I wonder if there's a type of poetry that comes out of the poet's heart when the poet is in a certain state: exhausted or content or emotional. For me, a playful mood often draws poetry out of me. But I don't know why.

Maybe this is something that isn't meant to be examined too closely.

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