So I found a poetry prompt advent calendar. Day 1’s prompt was simply ‘A candle’
The room is still Save for the flickering light of the candle on the mantel It’s orange cast dancing on the wall behind. The persistent motion is mesmerising as she watches through the window The light shed by the candle does not spread far, Showing her barely more than the silhouette of the familiar old chair His chair In its rightful position by the hearth. But the hearth is cold and empty. Summoning her courage, she takes the few small steps to the door. She pauses, sighs, hand on the handle before, Resigned, she pushes it open. The sudden chill that floods the room Is all-encompassing And the feeble flame is no match for it. As the door shuts behind her All is Darkness
If only days were dreams And all not as it seems If only time would fly The hours racing by To bring you back to me, my love From far across the sea, my love
If all the sky were blue And all earth’s colours true If all the stars were bright To guide you through the night And bring you back to me, my love From far across the sea, my love
Now all the world is black The clock needs turning back Your final bed of wood Carried all it could And brought you back to me, my love From far across the sea, my love
When people read poetry they interpret it in their own way. I know from comments made to me about my own poetry that if I write a poem about one thing, some people will read it as being about something else entirely. And that is fine. Like any art form, people view it through the lens of their own personal life experience and preferences; it means different things to each of us. That is one of the reasons that I often write a little intro to my poems on this blog – to explain a bit about what I was thinking or feeling when I wrote the poem. But sometimes I don’t want to share that much of myself, and sometimes I just want to throw a poem out there and see how it is interpreted without any hints from me. Today’s poem is not straight forward for me to explain so I’m just going to throw it out there. Comments are encouraged!
Weep with me for the forgotten boy who lies quiet at the end of the universe.
Exiled.
Expelled with such force that he can never find his way home.
And all for a misunderstanding that can never now be explained.
So instead he lies in quiet contemplation
of the injustice of existence.
Wishing he had at least done something worthy of eternal exclusion.
At the end of the universe all is clear.
He can look back at what could have been –
The sheer potential afforded to those who so oft neglect it
chasing after instancy instead.
Oh to be once again in the opportune abundance of those at the centre.
The tears deluged once, but that stream has now run dry
Futile waters washed away no part of his pain.
His resigned heart long torn in two.
Naive and trusting he yearned at the start for a vindication that never came
Reliant on the honesty of another with naught to gain from confession
and much to lose.
So alone he waits.
All angered out
self pity over
indulgent hope abandoned
Surrounded by stardust and cosmic redundancy
Weep with me for the forgotten boy who dies quiet at the end of the universe.
Today’s prompt was to write a poem in a single sentence begining” She told me”
She told me once about an amazing day, when the sun had shone down from the bluest of clear skies upon a child of undetermined age while she skipped gleefully through the field, wiggling her fingers through the waist length grass that was dappled with the reds and yellows of wildflowers and hummed with the frenetic activity of creatures she could not yet name, but which fascinated her curious eyes, hungry eyes that drank in every drop of the idyllic scene, before he found her and roughly grabbing her arm dragged her back to her cold, grey-skyed reality.
There is no good time to be told you are being made redundant.
February 2020 was really not a good time to be told that the site where you have worked for 20 years is going to be closing early in 2021. Four weeks later we were in a pandemic and within 6 weeks, the majority of staff at the site were furloughed. There was the inevitable delay effected by lockdowns, but now 17 months later, I am counting down the last few days until I finally step off site for the last time.
I returned to work from furlough in July last year, to a different site. There is now a one way system in place, so I have gotten used to walking further to get from one place to another than the actual distance between them. There are card slots on toilet doors to ensure no more than 2 people are ever inside at the same time, and tables in the canteen are set out like an exam hall where each person sits alone facing the front. This is not unique; few workplaces, if any, have been unchanged by the need to keep people at a safe distance from each other, and there are many faces I have not seen unmasked in months, though I have spoken regularly to their owners. It is a strange way to end my time at this place, with it so changed from how it has been.
I was ready to leave when they announced the site closure; I had known it was time to move on for a while, but not knowing what my next step should be I had procrastinated. It was a kick up the backside being told I needed to find the next step directly and not when I got round to it, but I am now happy that I am heading off along a different path.
So it has come as a bit of a surprise to me how sad I am. For all sorts of reasons really. Twenty years is a large chunk of my life. Since starting here I have got engaged, got married, had children, moved house, all to the consistent backdrop of the same workplace. Although plenty of people have come and gone in that time, there are many faces who have been a regular part of my work life for that time. I am grieving for the loss of those people, for the loss of the comfortable familiarity of the place, for the loss of a job that I know I can do.
The place has been winding down for a while now. As the workload has decreased and fixtures and fittings have been dismantled around us the sense of ending has grown. What was once a busy bustling place is grinding slowly to a halt. So although I am excited and hopeful, about what the future holds, today the joy is tempered by melancholy. As I sit here alone in my office I am inspired to write a poem.
We were warned
We had plenty of notice
Time to prepare
But did we?
Or did we put it on the back burner,
To be dealt with at a later date.
Denial and disbelief obscuring the need to make ready.
Now though, the truth is rushing headlong towards us and
the narrowness of the passage of time leaves no chance for escape.
As reality closes in I embrace nostalgia
Wrapping myself up in the comfort of the contemptuously familiar.
Change will come
What has been will cease to be
And I must move on
I wish to face the future with hope
With the excited joy of infinite possibility
But for now I stand on shaky ground,
unsure of where next to tread
Buffeted by waves of grief that ebb and flow
threatening one minute to overwhelm
Then receding to allow me once more to stand and face what lies before.
Life, as I understand it 