Tag: creativity

How To Tell If You’re A Poet

Do you wake up at two thirty with a rhythm in your head?
With a phrase that just won’t go away, but lingers there instead?

Do you turn the light on, rub your eyes, and start to madly scribble
On the pad you keep beside your bed, without a single quibble?

Do you think in rhyme when perhaps the time is not exactly right?
In the middle of a meeting, or, like me, the dead of night?

Does your brain dictate the time you put your words into a verse?
Do you have to finish it at once, when on the loo (or worse?)

Do you need to eavesdrop all the time to find your subject matter?
The bus, the Primark changing room, where people have a natter?

Is your poetry the heart and soul of everything you do?
Is it not a hobby, not a fad, but simply part of you?

If you grimace at the chance remarks that you get thrown your way,
‘So you dabble, do you? Oh, what fun to pass the time of day!’

If you mutter at the clichés and the patronising smirk
From a highly-paid executive who says it’s not real work,

If you live and breathe to hone your craft and hardly earn a crust,
If you scribe because you’re driven, and you scribe because you must.

Then you truly are a poet and the writing’s on the wall.
Words are wonderful my poet friend, so don’t ignore the call!

© Carol Ann Wood
October 2018

Links:
My bespoke poetry service, Diverse Verse
About the author
Contact the author, or follow this blog
Follow Carol Ann Wood on Twitter
Levelling the Playing-Field: Carol’s football-related blog
Only in Erinsborough Carol Ann’s fun look at the lives and loves of the characters from the Australian soap, Neighbours

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Poets Do Not Dabble

Poets Do Not Dabble.
We don’t turn our hand to writing.
We write.
It’s our brains that compose the words,
The structure, the verse,
And the hands simply obey instructions
Forming the line breaks and the punctuation.
Poets don’t dabble with a cup of tea
On a rainy day, when bored.
Our grey matter demands that
We pay full attention to instructions.
And we write.
Poetry is composed on the bog,
In the early hours of the morning.
At important meetings, at parents’ evenings,
During terribly dull sex.
When you’re laying on a doctor’s couch,
Legs akimbo,
With his hand examining your genitals.
Poetry is composed during sessions of Vin Yasa Yoga.
Whilst others are feeling the vibe,
You are searching for an illusive line
And wondering if you can grab your phone
From the pocket of your yoga pants,
To write in notes ‘Poets Do Not Dabble.’
Poetry is composed during inappropriate moments,
And no matter how much you try and pack it in a compartment,
It won’t go away.
If a poet leaves the words till a convenient time,
They will sit for hours with a blank page and a pen,
And immediately, they will find that
They have a parents’ evening or a meeting to get to,
They’re late for their yoga class,
Their nether regions itch and they must see a doctor,
They need to have dull sex.
Poets do not dabble.
They write.

© Carol Ann Wood
October 2018

Links:
My bespoke poetry service, Diverse Verse
About the author
Contact the author, or follow this blog
Follow Carol Ann Wood on Twitter
Levelling the Playing-Field: Carol’s football-related blog
Only in Erinsborough Carol Ann’s fun look at the lives and loves of the characters from the Australian soap, Neighbours

Index of Posts:

Please note that any advertisements which appear in connection with these posts are placed there by a WordPress algorithm. They are not indicative of any endorsement by the author.