poem 1

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