Craig Kirchner

     I have 350 poems in a folder on a laptop, all inspired by something. I don’t think any two poems or poets have the exact same prompts or methods. I read an interview with a well-known poet recently. He compared his process to a game. I can’t relate to that, one of my favorite poems was inspired by an Elton John, Billy Joel concert, written in a bar on a napkin afterward, and had nothing to do with the lyrics or music. One of the beauties of poetry for me is that it is totally eclectic, both in birth and the maturing process.​

     Ekphrastically, I am inspired every morning by a green giraffe with black spots and a pink pig smiling at a coke can. Both on a royal blue background and surrounded by a dozen Jackson Pollock-like color explosions crafted by two granddaughters and filling the wall that faces my bed. Before I get up and coffee the three of us will talk about what grounds us with reality, keeps both feet balanced on the floor. Occasionally we touch on gravity, mortality, the space I take up and how more meaningless that becomes every day. The giraffe with his black and white eye and the smiling pig usually concur. We have a laugh that even though they face different directions in their world, they have me and that royal blue background in common.