Writing Space

On the comfortable couch
paraphernalia spreads out
beside me and over the
coffee table in front of me.
A lined pad, pens, pencils,
paperclips give me
materials to record what
I put into words.

A book spills out doodled
scribbled ideas, internet
prompts, to kick start the
unrhythmic explosions
trying to fire up my brain.
A ring binder clutches drafts
papers clipped together
for each poem.

My mind seeks out
mature adult thoughts
suitable for poetry –
but surely these are a
matter of perception.
The four year old whose
knees no longer fit under
the handle bars of her
much loved tricycle is
travelling a rite of passage.
The old man whose
formerly active body
has seized up with arthritis
is in a heartfelt life crisis.

I stare out the window
at the fence and next door roofs,
at the changing skyscape
whose clouds mimic
the wafts of ideas
floating across my mind.

Where do I start ?

Previously posted March 2016.

Writing Space

6 thoughts on “Writing Space

    1. It is amazing how many “poets” do not consider it “poetic” to write about four year olds. She is nine now, riding a bicycle. How time flies! Meanwhile little brother is now four and deeply preoccupied with his dirt pile that his parents accidentally set up during their four week gardening session which filled our first lockdown. It has spread to more than twice its original diameter but it is more than their lives are worth to touch it.

      Liked by 1 person

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s