This is not me...
Posted: Thu Dec 10, 2015 2:12 pm
This is not me that’s sitting here, a faceless shape before a screen
I am away on a photo shoot for some exotic magazine
My back is aching blissfully with gear I carried to this spot
And now I wait in silent prayer to capture that elusive shot
It nearly forms within the frame, a little focus now to see
…Will somebody answer that phone? – it is not mine, this is not me.
This is not me that trudges in at nine so he can leave at five
I am still asleep you see – its after twelve I come alive
I breakfast at my vista view, on tea and fruits and dark baguettes
The afternoon will be consumed with coffee, wine and cigarettes,
The finest thoughts occur to me while I am writing in my book
….It is not me that stops and shops and thinks about something to cook.
My evenings are at dinner parties where the greatest minds will meet
I do not feed the dogs or help the children with their homework sheet
Of course I keep a home in Florence, and another in ‘the isles’
It is not me that washes days of dishes that are stacked in piles
I follow seasons where I will, I swim a lot - and sometimes ski
…I do not count my working hours for flexi time – that is not me
I wonder what they think of me, those people who must work their day
In offices and other jobs that trade their lives for meagre pay
They sometimes ask me ‘how I am?’ - at least they sometimes think they do
For they are talking to the shell of someone that they never knew
How could they know the truth of it? – the blissful sweet reality?
I nod polite replies - rather, my body does – this is not me
h
I am away on a photo shoot for some exotic magazine
My back is aching blissfully with gear I carried to this spot
And now I wait in silent prayer to capture that elusive shot
It nearly forms within the frame, a little focus now to see
…Will somebody answer that phone? – it is not mine, this is not me.
This is not me that trudges in at nine so he can leave at five
I am still asleep you see – its after twelve I come alive
I breakfast at my vista view, on tea and fruits and dark baguettes
The afternoon will be consumed with coffee, wine and cigarettes,
The finest thoughts occur to me while I am writing in my book
….It is not me that stops and shops and thinks about something to cook.
My evenings are at dinner parties where the greatest minds will meet
I do not feed the dogs or help the children with their homework sheet
Of course I keep a home in Florence, and another in ‘the isles’
It is not me that washes days of dishes that are stacked in piles
I follow seasons where I will, I swim a lot - and sometimes ski
…I do not count my working hours for flexi time – that is not me
I wonder what they think of me, those people who must work their day
In offices and other jobs that trade their lives for meagre pay
They sometimes ask me ‘how I am?’ - at least they sometimes think they do
For they are talking to the shell of someone that they never knew
How could they know the truth of it? – the blissful sweet reality?
I nod polite replies - rather, my body does – this is not me
h
