I said yesterday, not for the first time, that I’m not writing as much as I used to. I still jot down notes on scraps of paper or in notebooks, but I don’t seem to sit over them and nag at them like I did.
I used to find train and bus journeys a perfect opportunity to stare out of the window for inspiration, to worry at words, sketching out alternatives, scratching out false starts, mentally running through phonemes trying to find a rhyme or a word or phrase with just the right shape and sound.
Now, though, I’m never disconnected from my phone and there’s always an email to read, a message to send, a meeting to reschedule, a podcast to listen to or a social media thread to follow.
In light of this information overload, I am wondering if I’d do better to disconnect completely and go back to using a typewriter. The one in the photo is a rather lovely red Remington; I see from this page of writers and their typewriters that adopting it would put me in good company.
It’s very tempting, but for the moment there is work to be done other than writing and I fear I must continue to put up with the constant clutter of content that comes with being connected to the internet.
So, while there is no new poetry, I shall continue to re-post old pieces that seem appropriate.
is a messy eater. Each morning
I find tell-tale crisp crumbs
between its square white teeth
cracker fragments and
the improbably orange powder
of industrial snacks.
sat atop a take-out pizza box
and olive stones have never yet
upset its equilibrium.
to the desk by coffee rings
and gin-and-tonic lemon juice
has glued the disc drive shut.
a paper towel and I will wipe
that smear of melted chocolate
from the space-bar……………………… lip.