Poetry Makes Nothing Happen

           
                      “Poetry Makes Nothing Happen” *
                

                  
                          a) Inside

something here
                                                                               something there

                            something in the midnight air

                   c
                     u
                   r
behind the     t
                   a
                      i
                   n                               THE BED
                                                       under

who puts these fancies in my head?   

                    b) Outside

The sky is made of cinnabar gloom,
   stained by smog and sunset.
I will wait to stand and stare
    at the wonders of the moon.

The scuttle of three blinded mice
whispers the fate of the farmer’s wife
at the point of her own carving knife.

The cat calls,
calls for a mate,
will Tom come
before it’s too late?

Run, run, run, run.
The dog is sleeping,
the race is won.

                      c) Both sides

    This is the poetry described by Auden:
I am in the throes of loading dice,
    Writing lines: a( )verse to fate.
Making nothing happen.
     Scribbling words, though it’s too late:
still in the throws of loaded dice,
     choosing words
on the spin of a Karma Wheel.
                  

*A quotation attributed to Auden. Some words missing.