Mid December Malaise

Why is it when you have so much to do you cannot be bothered?

I started December well, the guts of a trash can novel written, an assignment completed in record time, my Christmas newsletter written and I even started writing those pesky penguin cards. A fortnight later and I am no further on, tree still in the loft, cards still on the table beside the address book, you get the picture! I have not been painting the town red (or indeed magnolia) nor have I escaped to some illustrious destination.

I have absolutely no excuse.

I have been working and even fiddling with a vague notion of poetry, which as ever is elusive. The harder I try the further away it gets from me. On reviewing one of my many note books I can see that this poem has been nagging me for some time…several months in fact….so I will have to let it come to me, whenever it decides that it wishes to be captured. In the meantime I am going to- cut up/ destroy/ tear apart-edit an old poem that needs editing.

This is uncharacteristically brave of me.

It was the first poem I ever wrote, the first I was truly proud of, and the first I ever showed anyone. I rather suspect I will kill it completely. But I have come to a point where I have to believe in myself, and try to make it a poem in the proper sense rather than its current pretend state, or admit defeat once and for all. No pressure then!

So in the words of a famously dead explorer…'I may be some time’