The Dreamer and the Doubter

The dreamer and the doubter
sit side by side
on my brain’s front porch

The dreamer sits on a pile of pallets flogged
from various roadside heaps
(where he sees great potential)

The doubter is the original armchair expert
feet up on an old recliner,
mirroring his sceptical raised brows

The dreamer points to the nearby door,
entryway to my brain proper

“You know what’s in there?
Ten thousand poems, and a novel or three
a revelatory memoir and a PhD
a groundbreaking series of documentaries
a business model that values artists
a church that restores hope to wounded roadside pilgrims
all integrated with the qualities of
a present father
passionate husband,
all-round neighbourhood hero”

A pause,

“There is so much potential behind that door”

The doubter leans forward and his armchair squeaks,
then slowly,
he speaks:

“Sure.
One thousand and one dreams that will never take form
all scattered, half-baked or halfway gone.
He only ever writes the book’s first page
only ever runs the first half of the race
and it’s derivative drivel
and it’s a sad sight to see.
It’s all wasted potential,
If you’re asking me.”

Suddenly the door creaks open
and a head peeps out
It belongs to the doer,
and he opens his mouth,

“Excuse me fellas, trying to work in here
Bringing to life a couple fresh ideas
And it’s fine if you want to come chew his ear
every now and again with all your hopes and fears
But maybe you’ve both got the goalposts confused?
Maybe the world’s not as clear-cut as win or lose
So, have your little chat but if you want to keep judging
maybe get off your chairs and come make something.”