Pencil on paper
sudden scrawl as
the words come
tumbling out in a rush
graphite scratching
scurry of a point
across a page
leaving a mark
for someone else
to see to read
to think to wonder
something left;
obtuse perceptions
of ourselves for others
a window to our soul?
Never fully revealed
‘voyeurism’; peeping
through keyholes
by knowing others
we know ourselves
So which is; more
lasting, better, more worthwhile
harder work, more useful, round for longer
the discipline of the craftsman
No sweat on brow
calluses, aches, straining muscles
sharp tools, things to show
jobs done, tiredness, no bludging
Rob Greenwood 2003

2 comments
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June 17, 2007 at 8:33 am
Life's Elsewhere
Hallo Rob, here I am writing from Kolkata/Calcutta, India. Liked your poem and blockquoted it in my little blog which you arrive at clicking on my name. Your categories hint that you might be a likeminded soul.
I am recently engrossed with, if you kindly go through my earlier posts in the front page of my blog you will perceive, a certain kind of writing and its analogy to lovemaking … I like writing on writing.
And may be you might like reading another post in another blog of mine: http://oninthough.wordpress.com/2007/05/27/blogging-our-lives/
June 17, 2007 at 11:19 am
robpoet
Hi Life’s Elsewhere, Thanks for your positive comment on ‘Writing’, glad to share my thoughts on writing with you, regards, rob