Procrastination by Frances Evesham
A publication day poem by Frances Evesham to celebrate the publication of her latest release, Murder at the Gorge.
‘Twas on a Monday morning when I started to compose
My work of cosy fiction. I would aim for perfect prose.
I sat up straight, my legs uncrossed, my fingers on the keys
But, while the inspiration flowed, I lost all sense of ease.
I leaned, I bent, my legs entwined, my back began to ache.
I tossed my desk out on the dump and ate a slice of cake.
‘Twas on a Tuesday morning when I bought some special kit
And spent the morning working out which metal bits would fit.
The standing desk was perfect, I stood there for an age
But I couldn’t write a single word to fill the pristine page.
I took a step, a single pace, and then, before I knew
I was back inside the kitchen tasting yesterday’s cold stew.
‘Twas on a Wednesday morning when I found the perfect space.
A laptop in the garden, it’s my all-time favourite place.
The flowers grew, the sparrows cheeped, the insects did their best
And then they bit me on the hand, the arm, my neck, my chest.
I rubbed on cream, the sun came out, I started to feel fine
But sadly couldn’t quite resist a glass of well-chilled wine.
‘Twas on a Thursday morning when I thought I saw the light.
Why try to use a keyboard when just talking felt so right?
I set up all the software, and said the words out loud.
It took much less than half the time; my wordcount made me proud.
I told my tale, the best one yet, and read it back with joy
But somehow, ‘Once upon a time’ became ‘One super toy.’
‘Twas on a Friday morning when my panic mode set in.
I chose a comfy armchair, determined to begin.
The deadline fell on Monday, I had no time to waste,
And a different storyline, more fun, and much more to my taste
Had jumped from my subconscious and was begging to be heard.
I tapped the keys, I aimed the mouse, I treasured every word.
‘Twas Saturday then Sunday, but I didn’t raise my head.
I scribbled, typed and crossed things out. I hardly went to bed.
My head was full of Exham folk, of Libby and of Bear
And whether Max’s house was really big enough to share.
The biscuit tin was cast aside, I lost myself in crime
And finished Murder at the Gorge – just in the nick of time.
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