Entertaining daffodils

How d’ you start writing? I don’t know.
Once I was by Lidl’s in the snow
A song-line came uncalled into my throat
Oh,Lord, I saw an ink blot on my coat

Rorsach is a name we all  can hear
If we are unstable in our fear.
Yet seeing visions in a blob of ink
Would make me a psychotic in a blink

We are all unstable  till we’re dead
If you are a statue, don’t see red!
I get angry with my muse at night
She sends me thoughts when I turn off the light

The one I got by Lidl’s made me hunt
I had to create ten more to put in front
And then I had to write the bitter end
For cliches are so useless round the bend

And when it happens at 11 pm
I feel like saying, can’t you come again?
I don’t know what some parts might really mean
If they come to me when I am rapt in dream.

I write the ideas down on bags of flour
On novels which to read I then aspire
I write them on my wrist in my own blood
But only when I’m feeling I’ve gone mad

If I search the house for paper scraps
I find some with the ordnance survey maps
Those precious maps we bought for holidays
Not knowing we’d no time left in our Play.

I find scraps on my bed or in the hall
And some take flight and end up on the wall
If I glued them onto a large card
I’d have a collage with a message shared

Oh,start where e’er you want, like Coleridge
Or admire Hopkins and his saviour Robert Bridge
Maybe it is Bridges,I forget,
Entertaining daffodils I met.