I am not poetic. I have not a poetic bone in my entire body. All that seems to change when I have things that must be done. I wrote this poem whilst (or instead of) revising for an upcoming R.S exam and coincidentally it just so happened to be about the act of writing poetry, which I would not normally do, whilst (or instead of) revising for an upcoming R.S exam.
I call it: The Procrastinator
Is that what I am?
Or am I just allowing myself sufficient time to think?
I’m just pushing it off.
I’m doing it when the time is right.
That was two days ago,
That is procrastination.
If you say so.
Who has the right to label the actions of the lazy?
Who has the right to label the lazy?
Only the lazy.
They will arrive at your next birthday.
Can you push off your own date of birth?
If you can find the will
Then you will find that the date will not move.
They fight against the procrastinator.
Names of gods
Forced into squares
As the unstoppable
Tick, cross or absolute red ring
Without a notice
Deaf to the pleas of
Procrastinator meet time.
He waits for no one.
What do you think of the product of my revision alternative? Don’t worry I have a positive feeling about that exam, but we all know what I am going to blame if I fail.
I type this whilst (or instead of) revising for an upcoming history exam.