Verbal diarrhoea

The building work is gathering pace - stoves are being fitted, oak shelves fastened above, air full of the dust it is causing, dog absolutely loving the freedom of going in and out as she likes (but she keeps pushing her ball against the builder's toe in an effort to get him to play!) So you can see that really it is not conducive to writing a blog. My computer sits in the hallway - today a main thoroughfare.
However, tomorrow it is our Writers' Group meeting. We meet in the local Quaker Meeting House, in a room which is the most peaceful room I have ever been in. It has an aura of quietness and is perfect for our purposes. Tomorrow is an Open Manuscript Meeting and I have a poem to read. It is far too wordy - but then if it wasn't then there would have been no point in writing it, if you see what I mean. I shall now endeavour to copy and paste it here. If I manage it, then that is another computer skill I heave learned. Have a good day!

Verbal Diarrhoea.

I write.
My pen
scratches on the surface;
words - meaningless,
mellifluous,
tumble from my brain,
where they have raged
and rattled through the night.
Faster, sharper, more urgent
than my hand to write,
they scramble for the page.

Soft, seductive phrases;
barbed, brittle words;
questions;
pedantic and persuasive prose;
I give them life.
Black spider-trails
on the page,
they tumble on
until my brain has emptied
countless crannies
stuffed to bursting
with what I want to say -
to give the light of day
to words.

And all the while
the poet
is considering a word.
He sees
its shape.
He hears
its resonance.
But most of all he studies
its inherent multiplicity of meaning.