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‘And the poets are at their windows…’

Mondays can be tough, especially for those of us who have to balance our dream job and our everyday, pay the rent job. So I thought I would start a regular Monday blog post to inspire, encourage and remind you writers out there that, no matter where you are on a Monday morning, you carry your writing soul with you: whether literally or metaphorically, you are at your window.

I hope that you will share your Monday inspirations with me to – it would be great to get an online Monday writers vibe going.

Thank you to Hugh, my husband, for sharing this glorious Billy Collins poem with me.

Monday – Billy Collins

The birds are in their trees,
the toast is in the toaster,
and the poets are at their windows.
They are at their windows
in every section of the tangerine of earth-
the Chinese poets looking up at the moon,
the American poets gazing out
at the pink and blue ribbons of sunrise.
The clerks are at their desks,
the miners are down in their mines,
and the poets are looking out their windows
maybe with a cigarette, a cup of tea,
and maybe a flannel shirt or bathrobe is involved.
The proofreaders are playing the ping-pong
game of proofreading,
glancing back and forth from page to page,
the chefs are dicing celery and potatoes,
and the poets are at their windows
because it is their job for which
they are paid nothing every Friday afternoon…
For copyright reasons I’m not allowed to publish more than this (rightly so). But please read the rest of the poem here, it’s too wonderful to miss.