A scribbled bit for Judy as she got me tal,king about making poems.
Andrew
At the very thought of poetry
My neon tan comes back,
I click my fingers
On the ‘on’ beat
And cock my head
At a curious angle.
Sweet scented night
Flows in the window
Like a chorus-line
Has just kicked high.
At the very thought of poetry
My wrists itch and I roll
Another hand-made line
Like a temptation to
Fish in my local river.
I’m losing weight
Line by line, then
Losing light as if
Night wanted to shut
The poem down.
At the very thought, I say,
As if each poem began
In thought… I flex
My pen-grip to
Show what works.
This is the doing of it,
This is the second degree
Of poetry, writing
Black lace on white skin.
Huh, there’s another line.
We’ve got till dawn
To get it all down
Then the pedestrian forces
Of the everyday world
May rumble and shout –
But we’ve got the poem out.
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