Contributions

The usual struggle with wordsAs time leaves the room.David, Michelangelo said,Was waiting in the block of stoneTo take his place in the world –Platonic perfection in place ofThe mangled mess we all know.A poem might be waiting to be born,I suppose, but most of us, faced withAn endless mountain range of wordsCan only chip away, at best, a few nuggets.

Megan forced me to think again aboutThe birth of ideas when she gave usAn ornament made from a bicycle chain –A simple thing - but original.And Kaecey perused my half-formedThought on a dazzling computer screenAnd offered a thought fully formed:‘You know grandad, just a tip, you mightTry to use rhyme sometimes in your poems.’So my two grandchildren not even ten,Passed me a chisel to carve once again.