he is a poet
and he walks outside today
and he’s pottering
as usual while he is
pondering a new poem
he is fiddling
around the garden, picking
bits and pieces, here
and there, as he drops broken
pots into the rubbish bin
an interesting thought
appears like a dart, as he
rushes inside, grabs
a pen and a notebook as
he scribbles the first stanza
~~~
It was the first of March and a rather chilly day, but I decided to have a little walk in the fresh air. It had been wet and muddy underfoot so I put my wellies on. I trudged across a few roads before I came to the park and the smallish river.
I stopped in the middle of the bridge, and peered across and down to the river. Not much to see though. No fishes unless they were at the bottom, but that was probably true. No birds around either, as I turned to look and the other side of the bridge. This was the upside of the river, the right place to play Pooh Sticks, as I grinned to myself, although it’s not much fun to play on one’s own.
It was time to head back. And time to think about some hot coffee and a couple of Hobnobs!
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150 words
‘Come on, another race?’
‘I’m game, let’s go further into the woods.’
The two of them pedalled as fast as they could until both of them stopped… dead.
‘What a fantastic tree. It must have been chopped down.’
‘But that’s a shame.’
‘I guess so… but, well…’ as he trailed off with a thought.
The two of them dropped their bikes. They walked around that huge broken down tree. They climbed up for a while, until both of them dropped down again. They stood together just a few metres away, and they stared and stared again at that upside down tree. For a while, they seemed to be mesmerised, but then they started to giggle.
And who can draw something as good as they did?
Now that end of the tree has a proper face, a big nose, a sad mouth, and two tiny eyes.
‘Cute,’ as they grinned together.
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150 words
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