Looking for a poem

[Stephen Whiteside]

This morning I found I had about twenty minutes up my sleeve before I needed to go to work, so I decided to look for a poem. I was pretty sure I'd left one out in the back yard somewhere, but I couldn't remember exactly where I'd put it.

I spent a few moments just standing and looking on the back verandah, hoping for a flash of inpiration, but nothing came.

A quick tour of the fence line yielded nothing, so I criss-crossed the yard itself a couple of times. Again, nothing.

I turned over a rock. Lots of scurrying slaters, and a worm, but no poem.

A magpie on the branch of a tree next door gave me an evil stare. I returned it.

I checked out the barbecue, which had got wet in the rain. The tray had filled with water. I tipped the whole thing over, and water fell out, but no poems.

I lifted the cover of the boat. Life jackets. Boom. Rudder. Centreboard. No poem.

I even checked the compost. Orange peel. Bread. Tea bags. No poem.

All very frustrating.

It'll be dark by the time I get home tonight, so I probably won't get another chance to look until tomorrow.

Perhaps I didn't leave a poem there after all.

[Maureen K Clifford]

You didn’t look up in the sky just as the dawn was breaking
and never checked beneath the leaves you didn’t get to raking.
The poems there, it’s hiding in your brain, it’s only faking
being lost - you need to search a little deeper.

It’s checking out your will I won’t I can I should I plan
to see if you are serious and yes I know you can
find that disappearing muse – I know you are the man
and when you find it I’ve no doubt ‘twill be a keeper.

[Stephen Whiteside]

Thank you for your encouraging words, Maureen. Do you think it might be hiding from me?

[Heather]

I think the problem is that you've put citrus in your compost!

[Stephen Whiteside]

Yes, I was expecting a compost complaint, but my money was on the tea-bag. Tell me more?

[Heather]

No, I think it's ok to put a tea bag in your compost. But not the citrus, definitely not the citrus.

[Stephen Whiteside]

Sounds like an old wives' tale to me.

[Peely]

Are you sure that you weren't writing a free verse piece, Stephen? With a little bit of rearranging I reckon you might have a poem

This morning I found I had about twenty minutes up my sleeve
before I needed to go to work,
so I decided
to look for a poem.
I was pretty sure I'd left one
out in the back yard
somewhere,
but I couldn't remember
exactly where I'd put it.

I spent a few moments
just standing
and looking
on the back verandah,
hoping for a flash of inpiration,
but nothing came.

A quick tour of the fence line
yielded nothing,
so I criss-crossed the yard itself
a couple of times.
Again,
nothing.

I turned over a rock.
Lots of scurrying slaters,
and a worm,
but no poem.

A magpie on the branch of a tree next door
gave me an evil stare.
I returned it.

I checked out the barbecue,
which had got wet in the rain.
The tray had filled with water.
I tipped the whole thing over,
and water fell out,
but no poems.

I lifted the cover of the boat.
Life jackets.
Boom.
Rudder.
Centreboard.
No poem.

I even checked the compost.
Orange peel.
Bread.
Tea bags.
No poem.

All very frustrating.

It'll be dark
by the time I get home tonight,
so I probably won't get another chance to look
until tomorrow.

Perhaps I didn't leave a poem there after all.

[Stephen Whiteside]

Nice. Yes, the thought did cross my mind.

[Heather]

YES! See what we can do when we work as a team!

Still a bit worried about the citrus.