I agree with you that I do not use a specific method or ritual to write poetry, poets with time and practice, we sharpen the observation of the environment as you rightly say, because what may seem to others something meaningless, that goes unnoticed, for the poet, is the river of inspiration that flows.

Reading your post, it came to my memory a poem of a great poet from my country, Venezuela, called Eugenio Montejo, who once wrote this poem that I share with you about what poetry was for him.

Thank you for sharing with us your encounter with poetry, I enjoyed reading your experience.

Poetry crosses the earth alone,
rests its voice on the pain of the world
and asks for nothing
not even words.

It comes from afar and without time, it never warns;
it has the key to the door.
As he enters, he always stops to look at us.
Then he opens his hand and gives us
a flower or a pebble, something secret,
but so intense that the heart beats
too fast. And we wake up.