Always When I’m Naked

or what writers really do on an evening

Always when I’m naked, usually in bed,

Poetic thoughts’ tend to pop into my head.

Urgent to get them down, I reach for my pad and pen

but to my woe things have gone astray

so it’s a case of ‘here we go again.’

And so the hunt begins…

A skinny wraith, dancing by windows with panic-stricken grace

Wearing a look of literary discovery upon a worried face.

A skeleton with a hose attached, not a sight to behold,

especially for those of faint heart or nervously disposed.

All the time trying to remember what it is, that’s in my head

whilst at the same time filling the neighbours full of dread.

When I do find paper and pen

And rush back up stairs again

I jump on the bed and get comfy in a literate repose

then forget what it was, I was supposed to compose.

Seems such a waste, all that haste,

Still! It’s a good excuse to play with my hose.

P Williams © 2005