Evening comes and Venus rises
With her bright accusing eye.
Why have you not sung to me today?
I hear her cry.
Do you have these days
When all you want to do
Is slope off into prose
Sending jokey e-mails to a daughter
Or a friend, or like me reply
In awe to my brother's accounts
Of strenuous hikes across the Lakeland fells?
Me? Well I bravely stagger to my car,
Occasionally. That's quite far
Enough to exercise my weary limbs.
And my meditation's due.
Oi you! This just won't do, I hear her call.
Oh, she knows me through and through,
You know. She ain't no fool.
She is my Goddess, after all.
Conscience is so cruel
But my response is slow.
So my cruel mistress gnaws
Through my frail excuses,
One by one, like munching
Through a layered burger on a plate:
I have no choice and surrender to fate
The cat needs grooming,
Friends are due to supper.
There's a programme that I just can't miss.
And the cat's annoyed
And is biting my big toe!
I could do a runner.
But wait a mo!
My pen's run dry and I have no other.
Is this my rescue by the famed seventh cavalry?
No, use your computer, I hear her sigh.
Ah well, you can't say I didn't try.

by Tom Billsborough

Other poems of BILLSBOROUGH (660)

Comments (1)

Yes, we prolong our urge to write, giving excuses after excuses! These days I do the same thing and can so well relate to this tendency to procrastinate! However you have produced a wonderful poem finally! A sure 10