Once More Into the Breach

It is hard writing poetry every day. Especially if one is working from random prompts, which I am. There is no peeking ahead. You just poke in to the Poem-A-Day page and see what fate the judges have prepared for you, and try your best. 

Apparently, even profession poets, who made a living at it, find daily poems a bit hard too. The Victorian poet, Robert Browning once made a New Year's resolution to write a poem a day.  He wrote nothing on the 4th of January. Perhaps it is wrong of me to take comfort in this, as two of his best remembered poems - Love Among the Ruins and Childe Roland - were written as a result of this resolution, but I do. It is not just me that finds poetry hard work!

And, speaking of work, that was the prompt today. Because everything is poetic if you think about it enough. 

There is comfort in working,

In shaping and sorting,

And setting to right

In a world running mad.

And solace in cooking

And cleaning and mending,

In  keeping in order

And lending a hand.

Peace in long labouring,

In weariness and aching - 

Contentment that dulls

The knife-edge of pain.

Grace in creating,

In building and making,

In starting anew

And trying again.

So there.

And now.... I go.