This is a compost poem because it rose to the top of my mind from I-don’t-know-where. Somewhere, sometime, I heard someone talk about poetry being the product of consistent work rather than the result of accidental inspiration. This is not to say that accidental inspiration can’t be used in a poet’s consistent work, but accident is a pretty poor basis for anything, even a hobby, let alone a career or vocation.
Daily grind
poetry is not lightning
a spinal jolt of plasma that splits open
mind to the sky in random
rare serendipity
poetry is laundry
worn piles that tumble over
and over made fresh by infinite
tedious cycles
The Daily Compost 
I will try to make poetry of my laundry! Thanks for the inspiration
Ah, the tales most laundry could tell…Happy writing!