Today doesn’t feel like a poetry day,
It feels disjointed, somehow dredged
With all creativity drained away.
Where is the meter in doing admin?
The rhyme in writing rapid emails?
The tempo in ticking off the tasks?
Somewhere along the way the stanzas
Blurred into an endless verse,
A universe of drizzly grey.
It’s not been bad, in fact it’s been
Productive, but efficiency
Has never inspired great poetry.
It’s been another day of ploughing through the tasks (although there have been some meaningful human encounters on the way).
(13.11.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Wesley Tingey on Unsplash