Prompt: a hobby
When I was a town planner, I didn’t get paid.
That makes it a hobby, doesn’t it?
I took the job on in a voluntary way.
I could see a need, and I loved the work.
What makes a hobby anyway?
I had ruler and setsquare and blank paper,
everything I needed, and I loved the work,
creating a kind environment for people.
With ruler and setsquare, my blank paper
took on life, took on shape, took on dimension.
I created a kind environment for people,
good places to live and work and play.
The shape of life needs all those dimensions.
And it needs challenge and mystery.
Good places to live and work and play
don’t always reside on the broad highway.
In the interests of challenge and mystery
I made some streets narrow, winding, hilly,
branching off from the broad highway
into lanes behind the parks and gardens.
Those lanes that were narrow, winding and hilly
had cobbled pavements and steps that led down
to levels descending from the parks and gardens
into lairs of bandits and realms of the Fay.
Yes the cobbled pavements and steps led down
from the shops and the sunlight, the things of the day,
into dark lairs of bandits and realms of the Fay,
where the mind of a seven-year-old loved to stray.
There were shops and sunlight and things of the day
included in the planning, regardless of pay.
But my seven-year-old mind also loved to stray
wherever it was taken involuntarily.
Some of these poems are autobiographical, some are entirely fictional, and some are a mixture of both. The intention is art rather than self-expression. I don't allow factual details to get in the way of poetry! (I do seek emotional truth.)
They are works in progress, and may be subject to revision without notice. Completed versions appear in my books. Nevertheless copyright applies to all texts found here.
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