I’m still learning the craft
glancing over jealously
at what others write.
Their way with words
makes me feel like the last Neanderthal
desperate and almost extinct.

Unlike RS Thomas
I don’t have the time to write
hundreds of poems a day
to throw the worst away
paper basket full
of tossed away lines
to emerge victorious
with words still dripping wet
before lunch.

Perhaps I’m deluding myself
taken over and controlled
by some mid-life angst
which compels me to think
that the rubbish I write
is too good to waste
and so I must hand it in
like homework
to be marked.

It brings back memories
of other times
when struggling to grasp
the art of the pencil
I was told that if the world were
upside down
my drawing would be a masterpiece……

copyright-ashyvicar