"Lost & Found"

Ecstacy is not a drug
Neither is winning the FA Cup
Ecstacy is kissing
And carressing the cover
Of your poetry notebook.
Squeezing it tightly
To your chest
Holding it up
To your heart
As it it were
Your very first lover.
(Not that I know
What they are
Which is why
I write poetry.)
But I digress...
Like your first love
Once it's gone
It's gone forever.
Scraps of ideas
LOST
Even if they
Weren't too clever.
I thought I'd lost you
Starting to get distraught
Knowing I'd NEVER
Be able to recall
Whatever once held
My train of thought.
This poetry bug's bitten me
Worse than being punched in the face
And left lying in the dirt.
My stomach was churning
Creative butterfly fears
All I have are my pens
And distant ideas.
Germs of a poem
I'll never remember...
Until I get home!
And I'm through the door
There it is!
Lying on the floor.
Standing in my front room
I don't need any drugs
Though I do wish
I had someone
To share a few hugs.
But I mustn't be greedy
For I've just discovered
The true meaning of the word
I began with at the start.
Writing poetry is MY ecstacy
Words from the heart.

Dulwich Poet 12th November 2014

(I thought I had lost my notebook, which I write down scraps of ideas in my head, for future poems. I was really annoyed, because, those thoughts will never come back to me, but I found it when I got home, I hadn't packed it in my bag after all...)