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 handlebars 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 ?

First posted 22 March 2016.

 

Writing Space