Self-talk
Your challenge for today
( Should you choose, etcetera)
Is the raising of spirits
The lifting of hearts
Floating free blue skies
Unthinking, in search of
Pollyanna, still out there
Perhaps, seeing the positive
Chipper, with cheer
Come on, you can do it
The sun after all
Does have his hat on
It’s only a habit
Attending to dread
Probing at pain
Fearing the phone call
What if, suppose, you never know, give it a go
She was right, wise woman
With her all shall be, all
Manner of, all shall be well
( Bad-to-worse perhaps not inevitable?)
Still, old dogs,old habits
Inner prophet of doom
Refuses to lie down, quit,
Miserable hunched he sits
Heavy on the heart
Shortens the breath, leaden
Dread
Today’s blue skies, cloudless challenge
And tomorrow, should I choose
Your challenge for today
( Should you choose, etcetera)
Is the raising of spirits
The lifting of hearts
Floating free blue skies
Unthinking, in search of
Pollyanna, still out there
Perhaps, seeing the positive
Chipper, with cheer
Come on, you can do it
The sun after all
Does have his hat on
It’s only a habit
Attending to dread
Probing at pain
Fearing the phone call
What if, suppose, you never know, give it a go
She was right, wise woman
With her all shall be, all
Manner of, all shall be well
( Bad-to-worse perhaps not inevitable?)
Still, old dogs,old habits
Inner prophet of doom
Refuses to lie down, quit,
Miserable hunched he sits
Heavy on the heart
Shortens the breath, leaden
Dread
Today’s blue skies, cloudless challenge
And tomorrow, should I choose
14th September, 2009, en route home from Grenoble
How strange that I should be sitting in the garden watching a plane in blue skies thinking of you and come in to find this. I have been observing during the last four days autumnal thoughts some of which are captured in the message of your poem.A see-saw of emotions and this struggle between positive and negative, inner and outer. The urgency of late summer sunlight and playing games trying not to resist the inevitable darker, colder months. Thelma and Louise fantasies combating my fear of autumnal years reflecting this same urgency. Over sensitive reactions to a bird who was stunned flying into my kitchen window and local news of a 17 year old being stabbed. A title of an unwritten poem keeps popping up in my mind 'Its metal time again'. XX
ReplyDeleteYes yes Jude. It is indeed, in Chinese medicine terms, metal time and I wrote this feeling quite low and as I wrote to Pam, a little as if it might be time for my leaves to drop off! I also wrote it partly to see if I could write myself out of the gloom, but you will probably detect that the gloom won. It is my time of grief of course, just now, though I do love the autumn.
ReplyDeleteagain I love it, you are the best
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