Slow Boil
A poem is like the watched pot of the proverb
It doesn't like to be seen going about its business
If you fix it with your stare
It will grow obstinate, impassive, inert
But let it lie unheeded
Attend to something else awhile
And soon enough the kitchen of your mind
Grows dense with steam
The singing of the kettle-whistle
The possibility of tea
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2 comments:
yours?
Yep, you got me - 'BUSTED', you might say.
I am usually pretty meticulous about attributing stuff; so, in general (unless I am still trying to track down the source of something, and reluctant to label it 'Anonymous') anything unattributed on here is MINE.
I compounded my obscurity in this instance by inadvertently labelling the post as 'Poetry (other people's)' rather than 'My Own'. I only just noticed that!
I think I'll leave that uncorrected for a little while, though.... just to see if anyone else queries it.
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