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.
I generally don’t like keeping secrets. Thankfully most of the secrets I keep revolve around birthday presents, surprise parties and the like, so are short lived. They are also the good kind of secret, the kind that you want to tell because you know the reaction will be positive.
But sometimes the knowledge we keep hidden is heavy to bear and we want to lighten the load by sharing it. Much has been written about how keeping secrets can be bad for our health. Occasionally however, the secrets that we keep are not ours to share.
I wish you had not told me that I did not want to know But now that I possess the truth I cannot let it go My heart cried out ‘this cannot be, It can’t, it must be lies But from your face I knew at once – I read it in your eyes
That scene now stuck in my mind’s eye never to be erased, Delivered to me such a shock It left me feeling dazed The Nightmare that now plagues my sleep And interrupts my rest Have been my night-time company Since to me you confessed
And all the while the shame of it That should be yours not mine Now Haunts my every waking hour As if by your design You have made me your companion In knowledge of this deed And I can never now forget I never will be freed
I would I could just run away The dread of it to flee But no matter where I go The truth will follow me. For all around is tainted now My illusions undone The world is a less pleasant place Your cloud obscures my sun.
I would you had not shared with me The burden that you bore For now I find this secret binds Us two, for evermore
I am a dreamer. I dream often and regularly remember bits, if not all, of the fantastical tales and crazy adventures I have during slumber. The weird and wonderful worlds I inhabit whilst sleeping can be a rich source of inspiration for my writing whilst awake, and I keep a note book beside my bed to jot down anything I want to hold on to. Sometimes when I look back at them my night-time scribblings make no sense at all, but once in a while when I check my notebook I am amazed at the insight or poeticism I find there.
A few days ago I had an unusual dream, even for me. Instead of being in the dream, playing ny part, I was an observer. And as the scene played out before me it wasn’t live action it was a black and white cartoon, all rough drawn and jiggling. I can only remember a very small part of it but it was such a striking visual images that it inspired a poem.
I can see myself in the corner In a small stark patch of light All couched and folded inwards In a world of black and white
The darkness that surrounds me Is slowly pressing in The fear of it constricts my chest I feel it chill my skin
But flickering, and glorious A white light comes to shine And rages ‘gainst the darkness In this corner small of mine
So sensing something easing I dare to lift my head And see the light expanding And catch a glimpse of red
I can see me in the corner In a growing patch of light All couched, but less uncertain In a world of colours bright.
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 