On Being a Poet
Poets are renowned for navel gazing and being introspective. Here are three poems to prove the point. But hey, all navels need an occasional inspecting now and then. :)
The Unpublished Poet
He took a clipboard and a ballpoint pen.
He sat in the sun and then …..
He gazed at the sky, the inexplicable clouds,
Listened to trees sigh, untranslatable tones,
Thought of all that he'd seen and heard
Wrote with his pen letters and words,
Untidy, unsung, unsatisfied.
From the Bottom Up
I believe it!
To shout from the tree tops,
To give birth, to lift off from earth,
My stomach tightened, my mind groaned and grasped
Of swallows sweeping, eagles soaring, swans mirrored on quiet waters.
Green, swelling, salt seas under awesome spreading skies.
And thought of
Are you a poet? I read
What was my answer?
Are you a poet? he said
But then I leave it.
Sometimes I shout it
Then start to believe it.
___Sometimes I doubt it___
Poetry is a lot like Lego, don't you think?
Out of a pile of possibilities you pick and fit the bricks,
Trying to create, something that will …?
Trying first this, then the other.
No not so, the shape's all wrong.
It really needs a diff'rent colour.
That bit there is far too long.
Maybe with this blue bridge's span,
Then that little green man could …?
No! Now I've got it!
Here, across these two bricks
The laughing cow is a perfect fit.
Dismantle, discard the leaning tower.
Rejig the frame, slot in some flowers.
But how to finish so that it …?
A cute, bright, dinky, coloured toy, a fairy palace?
A wonky weapon made to destroy, or some spiked chalice?
What will emerge from all those lego labouring hands?
Deliver us please from dire dada art!
Give us wheels and wings and moving parts
Arrayed, displayed for good or bad in lovely Legoland.