Listening to music, Mad World in particular in the hope that it will stimulate some poetry. In the olden days when I was a wee lass, poetry came easily. Pen would flow without hesitation through English workbook in response to teacher's titles. Then as an adult creativity started to die. Only in response to trauma did the muse return. Talent can't die surely? Can it? Can you lose that craft with words that you were once praised for?