Ah the protestations of youth, poetry ain’t poetry, (at least it won’t get into my book) if it doesn’t rhyme, and despite being told three times Marcus still ignored my poor old Grandpa, so I included him myself, that makes this contribution from Marcus the fourth generation represented here.
The Procrastination Poem Take 3
I checked my emails late one night
There was a stack backed up in the in tray
I could have checked them sooner
But I’d put it off for another day.
There was one waiting there from Pop
All the way from Gympie in
“I’m putting an anthology together” he said
“And I want you to lend a hand”.
“I’ve got poems from my Grandpa and also from my Dad
And there’s some of my own rhyming verse
I’d like more generations represented
So perhaps you and Zach can give it a burst”.
Sure, I said, good idea
I’d love to contribute some jottings
But then other things took my attention
And the poem I’d promised was forgotten.
Not only that, but The Heir was invited
To contribute something original too
At least, that is, he would have been
If I hadn’t put off telling him what to do.
He’s not speedy at the best of times
So delaying the request was a bad idea
What with my own procrastination to deal with
One poem, let alone two, may never appear.
I’ll do it after Christmas I thought
When life is not so hectic
I’ll have time to do it justice then I reasoned
Or was this another delaying tactic?
Sure enough, I not only put off the poem
But also the newspaper project for mission
Too much to do in too little time
Blame the sin of constant omission.
I put the jobs off, I delayed and avoided
My responsibility to put pen to paper
Time was soon my enemy and I paid
Dearly for my time-wasting caper.
Deadlines were approaching
There was no time left to waste
If I was going to fulfil obligations
I absolutely must make haste.
Everyone’s made it home now
The pubs are closed and parties are finished
The phone calls at last have all stopped
The demand for cabs has finally diminished.
When will I have time to get it written?
I muse, as I watch the dawn
How about now as I sit in the cab
Will my brain work at five in the morn?
Now I can’t put it off any longer
I’ll grab a pen and get busy at rhyming
A masterpiece it may not be
Just the result of good and bad timing!
I sent it off to the editor for approval
Hoping it was up to scratch
But he sent it back for correction
Saying the rhyming doesn’t match.
He’s a picky bugger, except when it comes to spelling
So I had another go to appease him
He can take it or leave it, his choice
I love him but I don’t always please him.
Marcus Holt 2008