The Daily Poem - Week 6
Week 6 already! But I'm still not up to 50...
WEEK 6:
1. Bonding
Bingley likes to curl in the crook of my arm
Flop down with his little pointed face angled at mine
A loud purr rising up and holding steady
Practically smiling as he cuddles next to me
Pushing his hard little head into my hand
as I stroke his fur
Knightley is still wary
He jumps up at the foot of the bed-- holds steady.
I don't move.
Carefully, he'll put a paw forward,
Ease his weight onto it
Stop--
I don't move.
Another gentle foot, placed carefully,
then another.
He'll pick a spot
Perhaps by my feet
or knee
or hip
And when he finds it, he'll settle
Carefully curling his body into a fluffy ball
Nestled between rumpled covers and warm human limb
Where he'll nod off, content
Meanwhile Bingley is purring
and kneading my arm
and occasionally getting up to turn about
and flop even more heavily into his little nook.
He's an interactive companion
While Knightley rests, dignified and majestic,
In his pool of warmth
So I ease my legs around him
Careful not to disturb him when I turn.
This is Saturday morning.
This, can go on for hours.
Me, with a book.
The cats, with me.
It's something we all look forward to
And cherish when it comes.
=====
2. Bird Rock
It was a quiet afternoon,
Until the birds came
Wheeling overhead in mighty flocks
Darkening the sky with their numbers
An awesome sight.
One group split off from the host
To land in my tree out front.
The noise was incredible--
Screaming, squealing, squawking,
Unceasing chatter as they called to one another
Like patrons at a bar
Shouting over the ambient din
Screeching to be heard
I looked up to see
Every thin branch bending under the weight
of dark-bodied birds;
Giving the light-green leaves a polka-dot look
As they fluttered and flapped and chirped,
Hopping from limb to limb
I thought, this was what it was like before Man--
Before motors, before rock music
Before all the jarring racket
with which the Human world intrudes upon Nature
There were these birds
Birds just like these
Rock stars of the Cretaceous
Screaming their lungs out into the still air
Shattering the prehistoric peace
Startling earthborn creatures and making them shrink away
Thinking, Good grief!
Perhaps taking it in stride
Perhaps plugging their sensitive earholes
With scaly fingers
The flock moves on, but not far
Their calls filter plainly through the screen
Announcing their numbers
Proclaiming their migration
Celebrating their feathered freedom.
Bird rock.
May it never cease.
========
3. Soul Death
Coming in every day
Same place I don't want to be
Same people I dont want to see
Same work, over and over again
I could scream.
So many hours
Sacrificed to something I care nothing about
So many days
Spent straining to get out
Do anything else
Not this
Not one more day
I feel myself die a little
Every day I feed myself a hastily prepared lunch
Every day I put myself through yet another drill
For no reason
No good purpose
Just work
It suffocates me.
Some days I can hold the misery at bay
Today is not one of them
Today, my soul dies
a little more with every passing hour.
I feel it wither and can do nothing.
I tried being free
and it never caught.
Threw myself on the good will of the Universe
and drew a blank.
So I work for the Man
and watch my breath choke on the numbness
Killing my soul
piece by piece, day after day.
If this isn't death, what is?
==========
4. Waiting
If not this, what?
I had hoped for a higher purpose
But I see none
I had hoped to accomplish something with my life
But that slot is still empty
I fear never to be filled.
A girl passes me, twenty-something
Fit, energetic
Moving with purpose
She has her whole life in front of her
As mine used to be
I feel my life has crested
And I'm coming down the other side
To the land where aspirations mean nothing
Goals are easily dismissed
And passion is cold.
What do I want?
Acknowledgement?
Validation?
Surely a purpose in life is up to me
I try to enjoy each day as it comes
To feel the beauty, the grandeur of life
There is so much here--
But world is no better for me feeling this breeze on my face
Seeing this glorious valley
This flower-gilded lake
It is gorgeous, and big, and empty
The natural world is wonderful and majestic.
And my appreciation makes no difference whatsoever
It doesn't fix anything worth fixing
Changes nothing worth changing
Time spent here is a waste of potential
Throwing the purpose of my life into null.
Simply enjoying the world not enough.
Not for me.
But I can't see how to contribute meaningfully
When everything is transient
And there is no goal
that doesn't feel hollow and meaningless
as soon as it is fixed on.
There must be more to life than waiting to die.
Yet day after day I feel as if I'm only marking time
Waiting to die.
=====
5. Relaxing
I don't need this-- I want this:
Soft clothes with slippers
An old TV program, well-viewed
Warm supper of soothing textures and rich tastes
A crisp glass of chilled white wine--
My wingback chair, with the footrest up.
I earned it. every day of the week.
Yet I savor it every time
As a gift.
======
6. Accomplishment
The feeling, at once giddy and sedate
The outer laugh but a hint at the inner smile--
The dance of joy, because one must celebrate
Must acknowledge
This breaking of a barrier
The goal long sought
Achieved
Bask in the glow
For just a little while
Tomorrow, another objective may rear its head
Another challenge will dare to be met
But tonight
There is only accomplishment
Singing through my body
Complimenting it on a job well done.
=====
7. Oppressed by Creativity
It hems me all around-- don't stare!
Creativity is everywhere
The planting of the flower bed
The starry collar for my cat's head
The very pattern of my clothes
The cunning sprinkler on the hose
The shape and color of my car
The pulsing beat of a radio star
The shape of the building I enter in
The carpet patterns that make heads swim--
All these humans, creating away
Affecting things I use each day
Crafted with cleverness or care
Keen to add a personal flair
I'm in creativity up to my hips
From microfiber cloth to microchips
The photos and paintings on the wall
My neighbor's ringtone for his call
My computer settings, my cool headset
The golden flames on my bike helmet
Surrounded by gadgets, words, and such--
One story, Lord-- is that so much?
WEEK 6:
1. Bonding
Bingley likes to curl in the crook of my arm
Flop down with his little pointed face angled at mine
A loud purr rising up and holding steady
Practically smiling as he cuddles next to me
Pushing his hard little head into my hand
as I stroke his fur
Knightley is still wary
He jumps up at the foot of the bed-- holds steady.
I don't move.
Carefully, he'll put a paw forward,
Ease his weight onto it
Stop--
I don't move.
Another gentle foot, placed carefully,
then another.
He'll pick a spot
Perhaps by my feet
or knee
or hip
And when he finds it, he'll settle
Carefully curling his body into a fluffy ball
Nestled between rumpled covers and warm human limb
Where he'll nod off, content
Meanwhile Bingley is purring
and kneading my arm
and occasionally getting up to turn about
and flop even more heavily into his little nook.
He's an interactive companion
While Knightley rests, dignified and majestic,
In his pool of warmth
So I ease my legs around him
Careful not to disturb him when I turn.
This is Saturday morning.
This, can go on for hours.
Me, with a book.
The cats, with me.
It's something we all look forward to
And cherish when it comes.
=====
2. Bird Rock
It was a quiet afternoon,
Until the birds came
Wheeling overhead in mighty flocks
Darkening the sky with their numbers
An awesome sight.
One group split off from the host
To land in my tree out front.
The noise was incredible--
Screaming, squealing, squawking,
Unceasing chatter as they called to one another
Like patrons at a bar
Shouting over the ambient din
Screeching to be heard
I looked up to see
Every thin branch bending under the weight
of dark-bodied birds;
Giving the light-green leaves a polka-dot look
As they fluttered and flapped and chirped,
Hopping from limb to limb
I thought, this was what it was like before Man--
Before motors, before rock music
Before all the jarring racket
with which the Human world intrudes upon Nature
There were these birds
Birds just like these
Rock stars of the Cretaceous
Screaming their lungs out into the still air
Shattering the prehistoric peace
Startling earthborn creatures and making them shrink away
Thinking, Good grief!
Perhaps taking it in stride
Perhaps plugging their sensitive earholes
With scaly fingers
The flock moves on, but not far
Their calls filter plainly through the screen
Announcing their numbers
Proclaiming their migration
Celebrating their feathered freedom.
Bird rock.
May it never cease.
========
3. Soul Death
Coming in every day
Same place I don't want to be
Same people I dont want to see
Same work, over and over again
I could scream.
So many hours
Sacrificed to something I care nothing about
So many days
Spent straining to get out
Do anything else
Not this
Not one more day
I feel myself die a little
Every day I feed myself a hastily prepared lunch
Every day I put myself through yet another drill
For no reason
No good purpose
Just work
It suffocates me.
Some days I can hold the misery at bay
Today is not one of them
Today, my soul dies
a little more with every passing hour.
I feel it wither and can do nothing.
I tried being free
and it never caught.
Threw myself on the good will of the Universe
and drew a blank.
So I work for the Man
and watch my breath choke on the numbness
Killing my soul
piece by piece, day after day.
If this isn't death, what is?
==========
4. Waiting
If not this, what?
I had hoped for a higher purpose
But I see none
I had hoped to accomplish something with my life
But that slot is still empty
I fear never to be filled.
A girl passes me, twenty-something
Fit, energetic
Moving with purpose
She has her whole life in front of her
As mine used to be
I feel my life has crested
And I'm coming down the other side
To the land where aspirations mean nothing
Goals are easily dismissed
And passion is cold.
What do I want?
Acknowledgement?
Validation?
Surely a purpose in life is up to me
I try to enjoy each day as it comes
To feel the beauty, the grandeur of life
There is so much here--
But world is no better for me feeling this breeze on my face
Seeing this glorious valley
This flower-gilded lake
It is gorgeous, and big, and empty
The natural world is wonderful and majestic.
And my appreciation makes no difference whatsoever
It doesn't fix anything worth fixing
Changes nothing worth changing
Time spent here is a waste of potential
Throwing the purpose of my life into null.
Simply enjoying the world not enough.
Not for me.
But I can't see how to contribute meaningfully
When everything is transient
And there is no goal
that doesn't feel hollow and meaningless
as soon as it is fixed on.
There must be more to life than waiting to die.
Yet day after day I feel as if I'm only marking time
Waiting to die.
=====
5. Relaxing
I don't need this-- I want this:
Soft clothes with slippers
An old TV program, well-viewed
Warm supper of soothing textures and rich tastes
A crisp glass of chilled white wine--
My wingback chair, with the footrest up.
I earned it. every day of the week.
Yet I savor it every time
As a gift.
======
6. Accomplishment
The feeling, at once giddy and sedate
The outer laugh but a hint at the inner smile--
The dance of joy, because one must celebrate
Must acknowledge
This breaking of a barrier
The goal long sought
Achieved
Bask in the glow
For just a little while
Tomorrow, another objective may rear its head
Another challenge will dare to be met
But tonight
There is only accomplishment
Singing through my body
Complimenting it on a job well done.
=====
7. Oppressed by Creativity
It hems me all around-- don't stare!
Creativity is everywhere
The planting of the flower bed
The starry collar for my cat's head
The very pattern of my clothes
The cunning sprinkler on the hose
The shape and color of my car
The pulsing beat of a radio star
The shape of the building I enter in
The carpet patterns that make heads swim--
All these humans, creating away
Affecting things I use each day
Crafted with cleverness or care
Keen to add a personal flair
I'm in creativity up to my hips
From microfiber cloth to microchips
The photos and paintings on the wall
My neighbor's ringtone for his call
My computer settings, my cool headset
The golden flames on my bike helmet
Surrounded by gadgets, words, and such--
One story, Lord-- is that so much?