I was in a stuck and foul old mood today, I was resistant to the beauty offered by Autumn's changing colours. I moaned, stomped and swore ignoring my emails and my ever lengthening to do list. In search of some much needed emotional catharsis I got down on my hands and knees and scrubbed the bathroom and kitchen floors. For a few moments I appreciated hard work in the way only those that don't really do enough can. Then it was back to the week long wrestle I've been having with myself.
Then an opportunity. It was my friend Andrea Robinson's turn to post a prompt for our Poem a Day challenge. It was only after I finished the poem I realised that I had mentioned both boxing and wrestling which seems indicative of my mood ! I also think I need to take a moment here to acknowledge once again if there's one thing that really helps it's writing. I spend so much time fighting it off but she's (I see my muse as a she, and a very determined one at that) the boomerang that won't let me go.
Shadows wrestle with what little light there is. Did I tell you I dreamt of being a boxer, to feel
my fist hard against anything that held still long enough, until the thrust of air and knuckle spun it
through time and space. A pendulum swings irrelevant of what you feel and, like light,
follows its own science. I wish it could be that way, always. Swinging back forth, back forth; a mobile
waiting for sound to happen, wind chimes holding their breath until the wind arrives; a quiet completion.
Instead the wrestling shadows, how time moves every last thing on, each counter on the board, step by chequered
step. The burglar always breaking the rose's neck, the fever mistaken for a passion destroying one's life.
Quotes used: "True rebels after all, are as rare as true lovers,and in both cases, to mistake a fever for passion can destroy one's life" — James Baldwin
"The ghost of your memory/is the thistle in the kiss/ and the burglar that that can break a roses neck" - Tom Waits