When you scratch a writing itch...
...and produce a small poem
I scratched a writing itch this afternoon. Had a few spare moments, fancied doing something different… Came up with this:
Red spider mites
Lacking the order of ants, they chaos
across the patio in search of sap.
Summer unfurls. Suddenly baked and dry,
the Internet informs that’s what they love.
Grown hot, my daughter retreats to the house
the soles of her pale slippers dotted red.Okay, so draft / w-i-p / probably unfinished. But right now it is what it is.
Yet what’s that?
I’ve talked recently about the need for consequence, that our work should ‘say’ something. And now here’s this ‘piece of fluff’ found its way into the world…
It’s just the capture of a moment, nothing more nor less. Does that make it ‘unworthy’?
A difficult one. Red Spider Mites is the kind of sleight poem which might find its way into a collection one day, or as an entry into a competition. Or not.
On the one hand, I think it’s ok-ish; on the other, it is firmly in the “so what?” category.
Who’s to judge?
I actually like it
It's lovely as it is - has rather a Japanese feel to it.