The Distracted Poet

[this was written in february 2002 & I called it "The Distracted Poet" as the frustration in lack of quiet & alone time for thinking & writing was prominent. :o) ]

May I pause a moment to speak with you?

rest my hands, my head and heart;

What's a distracted poet to do?

Here reading Oates and Poe, let me start.

At the beginning, at the outset you see,

i remembered a line so fleeting;

Like the lovely tree,

It made erratic my heart's beating.

Then children and blue's clues,

they rang in my ear;

What's a distracted poet to do?

I've lost the meaning, I fear.

Have a sip, have a smoke,

turn the page to another day;

The muse, will she choke?

It is time that will say.

The little sprite's voice I can hear,

distant at first, ach!

It's the children, I fear.

Picking and bickering, I yell stop, stop, stop, stop!

A demented Mother Seuss,

they stop, momentarily subdued;

"Will you read us some quiet Mother Goose?"

What's a distracted poet to do?

So we read in the bed,

and we dreamed of oceans and forests and things unseen;

It is full now, my head,

I thank you, friends, what a pleasure it has been.

[feb. 2002 - tink]