FIFTEEN MINUTES ON A WET SEASIDE SUNDAY LUNCH-TIME
i couldnt face a sandwich
dont feel like a drink
outside, its still raining,
too wet to walk i think
sometimes i see port isaac
as my second home
not today; my preference
is to be quite alone
freed from conversation
good manners and the rest
can i write a poem?
thats the proper test
of whether (as my friends know)
im lonely and bored enough
to squeeze my feelings outwards
thats the real stuff
of dragging poems to daylight
like hesitant turds
yet similar final pleasures,
relief and joy - in words
peter taylor
port issac. 5 dec 2004