Poems Don't Come

Tom Brown is currently conducting experiments in quantum non-locality by living in two cities at once. He can frequently be found on BC Ferries travelling between his house in Nanaimo and his apartment in Vancouver where he works at the university; there have also been reliable reports of sightings of the elusive writer on the #257 Horseshoe Bay Express. This poem is a work of pure imagination. It was created using direct to digital technology following sustainable writing practices: no trees were cut, no pencils were sharpened, no endangered species were put at risk, and no kimonos were opened.

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about us ::: guidelines ::: contact ::: order ::: chapbooks ::: Monday's Poem ::: Monday's Archive
Monday's Poem
Author photo by Kath Curran Link: Cry Poetry		© 2008 Thomas Brown Poems Don't Come when you call them it won't help to drum your fingers on the keyboard the way you might rattle a spoon against the dog's supper bowl Poems don't come at your convenience tapping on the front door like some delivery man you summoned to collect your thoughts Poems aren't dinner companions who ring politely from the lobby carry a bottle of wine or box of chocolates with a red bow apologize for running a little behind and leave right after the coffee is served A poem slips in the side door like a burglar or a houseguest quoting the second law of thermodynamics to explain how the toothbrush they always carry in their jacket pocket has settled to the bathroom counter Admit you left the door unlatched imagining the woman you once saw enter the apartment next door shimmering to your side a rustle of silk and blue slippers with gold embroidery on the toes She's with you now— feel her warm breath in your ear the whisper of words she forms on the tip of your tongue You fumble for your pen a scrap of paper You are flustered by her poise distracted by her perfume and the sudden arrival of a hairy-chested stranger with coarse manners and body odour who simply refuses to leave unless you hear his story first and write it all down every last syllable
Tom Brown is currently conducting experiments in quantum non-locality by living in two cities at once. He can frequently be found on BC Ferries travelling between his house in Nanaimo and his apartment in Vancouver where he works at the university; there have also been reliable reports of sightings of the elusive writer on the #257 Horseshoe Bay Express. This poem is a work of pure imagination. It was created using direct to digital technology following sustainable writing practices: no trees were cut, no pencils were sharpened, no endangered species were put at risk, and no kimonos were opened. about us ::: guidelines ::: contact ::: order ::: chapbooks ::: Monday's Poem ::: Monday's Archive