Last week an old poem I wrote, probably over 20 years ago, popped into my head. Much of the material I composed back in the 80s and 90s has never been stored electronically. After searching for this old poetry archive for a few hours, a sudden, horrible realization donned on me: My ex-girlfriend was in possession of these gems. I have not been in contact with this woman for nearly 5 years, now. The last time we spoke, she was living with her brother and sister-in-law in Montana; her health not so good. She kind of flipped out on me, for some ridiculous reason, severed all relations, and disappeared from sight. This is a woman who knew well how to disappear when she wanted to. I considered a few times utilizing one of those online services to locate her. But as much as I hate to admit it, it never seemed worth the cost to me. If she wanted to get in touch with me, she knows where I am. It's become infinitely apparent to me that she has no desire to do so.

Now I'm wondering if maybe I should rethink the situation, and go the extra mile to locate her. The more I think about my old friends, the more I miss them. What a shame my memory isn't a little better than it is when it comes to recalling what I've composed. Sure, I recall a few lines -- maybe a handful of the very short ones -- but not the longer poems. Perhaps if I could merely remember the subject of each one, the muse might revisit me. Not likely, I'm afraid. Whenever I've actually tried to force poetry from my brain, the end result is utter garbage.

I'm put in mind of an interview Bob Dylan gave for 60 minutes a few years back: Ed Bradley brought up that he had read once that Dylan wrote Blowin' In The Wind in less than 10 minutes. Dylan confirmed that he had, in fact, written the tune in a matter of minutes. He went on to suggest, when asked from where inspiration for such masterpieces came, that it simply came from some "wellspring of creativity". His early work -- most of the songs he wrote before he went electric -- stand apart from everything that followed. Make no mistake, his later body of work contains many brilliant songs. But songs like Blowin' In The Wind, The Times They Are A-Changin' and Don't Think Twice, It's All Right are on an entirely different level. If this "wellspring" truly exists, Dylan drew an over-abundance of magnificent creations from it in a relatively short period of time.

I've always suspected that some people are just more in touch with some mysterious creative force than others. Anyone can tune into it; it's just that some of us have a better connection than others. Being of a more introspective -- and perhaps solitary -- nature helps immensely. The signal comes in more clear when you don't have as many distractions as the average person.

Still, one needs inspiration to create, and it's hard to find it if you reside in a vacuum. Yet, Emily Dickenson lived a small, sheltered existence by just about anyone's standards, spending most of it secluded from the world in her father's estate. How do we explain the brilliance, wisdom, and soul -- assets we expect from those who have experienced a broader life -- that flowed from her pen?

My most superior writings seem to write themselves with little effort; while others seem to crank out laboriously, finally resulting in an inferior composition. Maybe there is something to this "wellspring of creativity". All I know is that I might as well forget those old poems, because the chance they are coming back to me on crumpled, typed pages isn't terribly likely. The only thing I can do is reestablish the connection and keep listening for new ones. Or maybe the old ones are still out there floating around, waiting for me to snatch them up again. One this is for sure: I'll be a whole hell-of-a-lot more careful with my creations in the future.