After a week at Arvon I should be capable of writing a sonnet to clutter, or at least a few lines of pared down poetry, but the muse deserted me to dance in the garden. I don’t blame her, I’ve been sorting clutter and lugging furniture up and down stairs all day.
Not only furniture but hundreds of books, while Alan and I cursed each other for having so many! We both know only too well that even when we give huge bags of books to the charity shop, we have a tendency to buy a whole lot more.
Finally, however there is a much better use of space all round. So ‘clutterbugs’ this is for you! Sorry real poets this one is verse!
I’ll invite the all dancing muse back in tomorrow!
Clutterbugs (and for Catherine)
They stuff each room with bits and bobs
the house is never neat.
They set out knick-knacks on the shelves
when I am fast asleep.
They stuff the loft with old machines
completely out of date
they’ll never come in handy
they just lie there and wait.
They hide things in the garage
half empty bags of sand,
partly used congealing paint
I just don’t understand.
But now it’s just enough’s enough
I’ll hunt them down
I’ll give them hell
get rid of all of them!
Well may be!