Snoozing on the back of the sofa,
one eye just a slit open to surveil,
and I see it: movement, a streak of color.

In a snap, I’m wide awake, muscles tensed,
prepared to pounce. 
I’m a missile, flying through the air.
Direct hit! I have it pinned beneath my paws,
squirming and squeaking.

I bat it around, let it free, then catch it again;
toss it in the air, even take a little nip 
to see how it tastes. 

Then suddenly it goes silent and limp.
I poke at it, but it doesn’t move.
Well, that’s no fun.

I turn away and focus on paw licking and
whisker grooming, but there it is again! 
That blur of motion. I swing around, but 
all I see is a scrawny tail slipping through
a crack in the wall. 

And this, you see, is how I write poetry,
chasing ideas as they scurry by,
pouncing on furry little words,
chewing them to see if they taste right.

Sometimes I fuss with the lines too much,
and they die right there on the paper.
Sometimes I think I’ve got the perfect phrase
pinned to the page, but it slips away and disappears.

But there are other times when it’s a clean catch,
when I finesse my prey into a perfect, plump little gift
that I proudly lay at your feet, confident of the
appreciation and praise it will garner. 

And then I –  warrior of words, slayer of syntax – 
strike out in search of another poem to wrestle.
And that, you see, is why I write poetry. 

It’s National Poetry Writing Month (NaPoWriMo)!

Day Twenty-Six prompt from NaPoWriMo.net: write a poem giving the reader some insight into what keeps you writing poetry, or what you think poetry should do.