a practical poem
crumple this poem. we’ll call it kindling then
in case you’re cold and wet. got a match?
did you wash your face? brush your teeth?
are you wearing clean underwear? mother said!
are your shoelaces undone? it’s important to check.
did you bring a towel? might be a beach close at hand.
got gas? got cash? got spare change?
remember to feed the cat? lock the door?
did you remember your keys? hand in pocket now.
leftover cassarole is on the refrigerator, second shelf.
about two minutes in the microwave will do.
it’s exactly ten thirty-two a.m. now. a practical truth
at least once each day. truth is kind of like that.
loving you like my own life. maybe that takes meaning
at least one moment each day too. maybe more.
test for being a writer. pen in hand? paper? words
on the page?
test for being a good writer. you’ll never know.
can you live with that?
in case of fire, stop reading this!
neil reid © may 2012
comments:
A big time DRAFT this poem is! Wrote this much, but then a whole other format and approach came to mind, however no time to work on something near new by comparison. However so be it for today. Not “wrong”, just unpolished – and – not what I later thought to write.
Says the prompt this week, write a “practical” poem. I like the idea because it is so odd, so unexpected for what a poem might be. Thus then comes whimsy to pen, and whimsy I like. Although, true to the prompt, this poem does render (mostly) sincere and practical admonitions. That’s a twofer! Not all poems need be “serious” (and poets included too!) would you also think?
Written for the We Write Poems prompt #107, Let’s get real.
bearly audible 
Nothing drafty about this, Neil: as a mother I should know – we have to restrain ourselves from these practical injunctions as the children grow up. Then suddenly we find we’ve grown old and they’re using them on us! I look forward to your ‘nother poem.
Thanks Viv. I mean, I suppose, drafty by comparison with what is yet invisible inside my thought. I like that my poems learn as they repeat and repeat themselves, becoming something at least a bit new so oft as possible.
Terrific. The ending is great – and very practical!
Thank you Nan. Yep, that last line is the keystone of the poem for me!
Necessity is the mother of invention–and mothers wake up to practicalities by necessity. My brain isn’t so clockwork, but I’m constantly amazed at maternal brains. Am I allowed to call this poem “cute”?
You can call it “Fred” if you like Irene, but “cute” that will also do. Looking I realized more and more how many of these little microscopic moments go on throughout the day – how we keep ourselves from falling off a cliff.
Interesting to observe when one really looks to see.
Thank you Irene!
I love this, Neil, on so many levels and from so many directions.
From so many levels and so many directions, thank you Margo! Do I confess how much pleasing you with a poem, pleases me? No, I’d better not. Thanks.
Drafty it may be, but delightful nonetheless. I like the back and forth of many of the lines – the question then comment/rationale – whether two people – or two voices in the same head. I also like the play with fire – both at the beginning and the end.
Richard
Yes yes Richard, exactly the kind of internal interaction that I wanted to place as a seed, then read, then grow. And yep, too, fire IS a very very practical thing (and I’ve witnessed it up close, and it’s so).
And playing with fire with words, well, that’s the safer way for sure!
Thank you Richard.
I love this poem, Neil. So truly practical and that use of fire works well.
Thank you much. And lucky me, being more dry here, so rubbing two sticks is more likely to kindle a flame. Thanks!