Monday, May 15, 2017

Kit Kelen #501 - this is what I do

this is what I do

(apologies to Kit Smart)

For when his day's work is done his business more properly begins.

having been overnight
hard at it
called to canvas
(how many other worlds come from?)

first shine to rise
yawn, rub through ache
and blear
catch rain, catch sunshine

and kiss my neighbour if she's home
even at pillow asnooze
a kiss!

all of the blessings
already here

to traipse the page
a little jig

make me true servant of the day
and yet
keep under glass
to stretch an hour
and double-glazed
if wintering

in cherub quest
roll upon wash
and then I'm quadruped
downward dog
then cow

last rub against the post
and now I can say firstly

then breakfast is imperial
fruit with the news
still pen beside
and paper so
then tea – the second cup
take my pills
and swallow

to desk now
and I march the lines
have the surly sods salute

I make them bark
and break them
I might let sleeping dogs just lie
or send them to their graves
for whimsy

in goodness all sorts are suppressed
and so I purr in thankfulness

or I pick up with brush or can
I can manage with burnt stick

I stroke for electricity
my method is always evolving

so hours dissolve into the work
though you would call it play – I do!

or possibly not anything
perhaps you can't see me?

best are all invisible
silent servants each art knows

still though, you have been before
so you understand what I'm supposed to be doing

I ought to be writing the novel right now
I ought to be paying the bills

shouldn't I be at work right now?
how can this one have so much fun?

it mustn't be allowed
and after, bin it (mulch)

then colour then the bloom of muck
then back to white and black

and so on
we go round again

can you see how with me time has vanished
and so much nothing done?

such pleasure!
I stretch again and sigh for loss

such subtlety
and such degrees!

of gravity, of waggery
tenacious to the point

nothing sweeter
than when at rest

yes I'm brinksman
here to leap

what's brisker than the mind
bent on its poetry?

and tread the music measure
is this not all the swim for life
and slink

I cross out
a little kip
and then I start again

leave traces
I traipse the page

and though this next
is not a question

won't you

No comments:

Post a Comment

Note: Only a member of this blog may post a comment.