On September 9th, I have to turn in a poem on 'unexpectedness' to be work-shopped in class as part of my master's degree studies.
Poems are usually not scary things to write but this one, knowing who is going to read it and how critical that reading will be left me scared shitless. Something, over the past few days, probably blind panic ... concentrated my gaze and I've 'banged out' (what a nice phrase for inspiration) a few on that theme, and this is one:
Memento Mori
It should, really, be left
With the milk in the morning,
As expected and regular as
The need to turn the clock in the hall.
Or, if you like, given out with packets
Of soap in the strip -lit supermarket
Down the street; a prize for
Dirtying your linen – for living,
If you like. We could cold press it in plastic,
A prize toy for our kids
Who’d find it in the cereal box
Breakfast we serve every day;
As expected and regular as
The need to turn the clock in the hall
Although I’ve been forgetting
To do it, of late –
Then, perhaps, it would not be
Quite so sudden
Finding official letters like this
In the hall
Where the carpet watches
The clock and the heating hums
On, through it all.
It's 6.42 am, right now. Forgive me my bleary eyes but I'm starting to like this time of the day for writing and working.
Love Mizi xoxoxoxox
