Wednesday, April 04, 2012

Steal like an Artist

More about steal like an artist here

Snowy white hills sing away in the distance
Troubled weather map pours out across this central belt
Sun makes an occasional passing manoeuvre
Teases and reminds its supposed to be April
And I wonder and tense up at the thought of what the cold wind will feel like
As if I didnt know
I know
I have a million words inside me, some picked out by pen or pencil,
Some spoken and carried away, some typed up or texted
Blogged and parked up in website oblivion
Most are stuck stubbornly inside my head like lazy pupils
Unaccustomed to work or study, happy to relax, feral children of mine
Hard to get at, to understand, they show no apparent desire to escape
I look out at those hills, far away with their coverings, dog walkers and ramblers
Keep my thoughts to myself, reluctantly, safe and personal
Maybe turn them into a shopping list:

Grated cheese
Stornoway Black Pudding
Cider or something
Morning rolls
Easter eggs for the bairns

On a yellow sticky, where that poem should be.

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