Poetry

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No word or no phrase to haunt me this week
No story to post and no comments to seek
I twiddle my thumbs and play with my toes
And count off the days, how slowly time goes

I could do the ironing, the pile’s rising high
Or dust off the front room, some polish apply
Bake, ice and eat a dozen cup cakes
Dusted with lashings of milk chocolate flakes

I suppose I could visit, my kith and my kin
Not seen them for ages, so where to begin?
We’d talk for hours and set the world right
We’d drink too much wine and then pick a fight

I could start that book that I promised myself
I picture it printed, displayed on a shelf
Of course, it will win me a famous award
The critics will hail me, and I’ll be adored

Just give me a topic, a subject to do
A deadline, a word count, some feedback too
I just need a challenge to practise my art
Why wait a few days? I’m itching to start

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