Artist A and Artist B

There are two artists

let’s call them Artist A and Artist B


Artist A frets about his path

Artist B lets life choose it for him

Artist A needs a plan

Artist B doesn’t need to know


Artist A creates a logo

waiting for accepting blue thumbs

Artist B draws a picture

and keeps it in his drawer


Artist A networks

and asks what others can do for him

people are tools for building

Artist B gives pieces of himself to everyone

without even knowing it

and will never find himself alone


The truth is that Artist A is not an artist

and will never be an artist

because he calls himself an artist

Artist B is just a man

and knows he will always be just a man

and is content


Does Not The Mouse Wish to be a Fox

Does not the mouse wish to be a fox

Skulking through the night

Does the fox wish it were a goose

Cackling in a perfect V of flight


Does the lion long for the giraffe’s neck

All the better to see its foes

Does the cheetah long for the hippo’s mud

A place to soak away its woes


Does the lawyer ache for open land

To feel the wind upon his face

Does the farmhand resist throwing down his trowel

And suit up for the clack of a keyboard’s pace


The mouse scurries in cracks

Its tail nipped by a crow’s curious dive

The fox eats bluebell bulbs

Succumbing to frosts it won’t survive


The lawyer waits for the day’s end

To sigh and down his glass

The farmhand packs away his tools

And dreams of marble instead of grass


Does the animal long to be human

And sculpt the world to suit its whim

Or is covetous man’s alone

Belonging to only him?


Back to the old homestead

I bump into you

The last time we saw each other

We were ready to embrace the new


Your eyes on a spot behind me

Waiting for someone else

You detach yourself for a moment

And enquire as to my health


I’ve been about, I say

Gone from here to there

Tried some new things, now back to the old

Then meet your horrified stare


You raise eyebrows you’ve spent hours

On looking like you’ve left alone

And say, Oh, but how

Will you ever afford a home


You went your way I went mine

There is no right or wrong

There’s more than one way to live a life

We can climb or drift along


You’ve met all the celebrities

You’ve rubbed shoulders with the stars

But I’ve talked with children

About how we can live on Mars


You’ve never floated down the river

In a state of play

Waving to Japanese fishermen

Passing the time of day


Your experiences aren’t better than mine

And mine aren’t better than yours

We were both in the same building

We just left through different doors.

I have mixed views on poetry. Anyway, the urge struck me after reflecting on how people established in their fields react when I say I’ve been abroad for a long spell. Often, they express admiration, but other times it’s akin to pity. If we all went down the same paths, life would be awfully dull.