Poetry is not procrastination

It is, in fact, a well-spent use of time;

The house needs to be cleaned, but then, in my

Imagination, I’d rather play with

Words than wipe the kitchen clean of grime.

 

My son at school (at last, at last!) I drive

Through plashing risk of aquaplane in grey

Torrential rain, braking on the A-roads

And the dual carriageways until

 

At home, I contemplate how best to use

The time, and organise the house, the better

To effect efficient creativity;

Then sit in front of my computer screen

 

And grit my teeth. Come on, the Muses, fill me

With your potent wits and dazzling insights

Into the energies, the motives that

Effervesce through everything we do

 

Or think we do; or want to do; or wish

We hadn’t said or done – ay, there’s the rub!

Instead, I sit and contemplate a coffee,

And breathe the Autumn peace and watch my breath.