Alltagsmagie

something_s we make

Workplace

When and where do poets work I ask

as I sit on the bench near the canal.

There are toffee wrappers around

and empty coke cans

and duck feathers.

There’s dirt under my feet,

my hands are dry. People rush by,

clouds fly by, too,

—only the breeze stays awhile, loyally.

I once heard that where there’s pain, poetry

happens. I disagree, strongly, Sir.

Where there’s pain, more pain

happens, because hurt people hurt people,

that’s how the story always seems to go.

But what do I know

—and that’s not why I’m here anyway!

 /

I came here to breathe, feel the freedom in my chest,

think outrageously for a bit.

I came here to go to work eventually,

and this is the way to get there.

So after the sun’s gone down—

the most rigorous alarm clock there is—

I return to my tiny little place under the roof

with those slanted, whitish walls,

those creaking wooden floors,

that charming book nook by the window,

the wine on the shelves, next to the chessboard,

with that wide, nearly visionary view.

Now, this is a time for nakedness,
either in bed or on the page.

I’ll take the latter tonight, intensely so,

with seemingly just as much risk

—and a different kind of romance.

About Marie-Sophie Guntram

Marie-Sophie is a language lover at heart and a linguist by training. She's currently seeking to make a living and, more importantly, a life.

Please Share Your Comment Here:

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

Information

This entry was posted on September 9, 2015 by in writing some poetry.