Babies, Bath Water And Wheels

One of those days where laughs have been absent,

Well, not absent, but definitely too few,

Too many reasons for not seeing the funny,

Like a failure to perceive different views.

Listening to others, all serious with cause

For things that, frankly, are lame,

Waffling on about nothings of note

With nary a pause in each frame.

Watching enactments of things seen before,

Discussed and never quite sorted,

Ideas never birthed, though pregnant with points,

Incited then swiftly aborted.

Boring, ’tis true, not the kids, not all,

But the professionals when gathered as one

At meetings of yore, the same as before,

All talk and nothing is done.

Not a laugh to be had though god knows I giggled,

Mostly just under my breath,

Demented I was and tired of each cause

But mainly just bored to death.

It’s the plague of the system that seeks to improve,

Hashes, rehashes, all logged,

Eyes glazing over, not mine, I’m too nosey,

Mental notes to be blogged.

Young woman beside me has kids on her mind,

Baby tended at home by a carer,

Well looked after, no doubts whatsoever

But I know her mind’s really there.

Not present, another, he’s gone with the wind,

Slouching deeper, bent double, spaced out,

Bored and disinterested by monotoned leader,

I know him well enough to not doubt

That thoughts on his mind revolve round his football

And he runs, so he’s thinking of that,

Or his wife and his kids, how he’ll moan when he’s home,

I don’t blame him, though he acts like a brat.

One says her piece and I stifle a yawn,

Can’t help it, it’s been a long day,

We’re all just tired, in need of a rest

So I suggest we’ve said all we can say.

And lo and behold the leader agrees!

She’s fed up too with the nonsense,

It’s good to know that it’s not just the minions

Who recognise some common sense.

Another will follow as they always do,

Another and then just one more,

And then once again to tick all the boxes,

They’ve made teaching a helluva chore.

It’s rife, so it seems, that all that we do,

In jobs, professions, careers

Requires so much talking, so much distilled shit

Till it’s streaming and pouring from ears.

I have to confess I do say my piece

Though usually it’s not well-received

When I remind all gathered that nothing much changes

Gasps! I’m not being believed.

Once in a while would be fine for a purpose

If action and sense would prevail,

But, not holding my breath till retirement comes,

Been there, seen that, done it and hail –

It circles around – like proverbially wheel,

Though no one admits that’s the case

Unless you’re a bit older with a trap you can’t shut

And enjoy the looks on their face

At heresy spouted, remembrances past

And how this is just as I find

Reinventing the wheel but not nearly as well,

Babies and baths come to mind.

Now, my poem’s as long as the meeting we had,

And there’s nothing visual for you

To redeem all the talk, to survey and to think,

So you’re dismissed ‘cos that’s what I do. 🙂

 

 

Reunion

Cry gently, my love, in parting,

loud tears mar the time we shared as one.


 Weep softly, to music,

errant chords plucked at only just begun.


Tread lightly, my sweetness,

fragile heart may break at one more tap.


Embalm me, my angel,

fly to me, wing’d aura be your guiding map.


 Know nothing need part us,

no distance, time, nor space created in between.


 Be ready, alert to

my sighs arising, soft slowness pitched to keen.


 Stand steady, my fortress,

strength of Everest to your scaling feet.


Awaken my dreaming,

shift silken drapes, in dawn’s rays we meet.

 

 

May Music, Day 6 – Best Friend

I saw my best friend at a bus station on the way to college for enrolment. We got on the same bus, each eyeing the other as if we had met before. When we both headed for the same place I made a point of speaking to her. I was 17 then. She has been and continues to be, a wonderful friend. The song I most associate with her is ‘Tapestry’ by Carole King. She too was a product of older siblings’ taste in music. And Nancy could sing this one beautifully. So, when Twindaddy asked which song we associated with our best friend, this one seemed perfect because that’s kind of what our life has been. I like to think that we all know that friendship.

 

We met before we met, I’m sure

you’ve met her,

checkpoint on the road I call my living.

Encountered once, you will

not forget her,

our threads are woven closely, stitched by giving.

 Like telepaths, we know when we are needed,

for friendship’s sake

we call and we are there.

One glimpse, one word was all it took

to feel it,

surprising meeting; starting with a stare.

 We must have known that time

would be a stranger,

in early days when talk was fast and true.

Chosen paths mean

frequency no longer

but still our hearts are bound and so pursue

 the knowing of the girl into the woman,

attributes

still held so very dear.

We met before we met, I’m sure

you’ve met her –

A friend of worth, inside, is always near.

 

 

 

Meeting in Senses.

The Waiting. 

 

Eyes scan the platform, darting here and there, scoping strangers, frantically searching for him. Winter coverings move of their own volition. No face registers awareness. No face searches her soul, for none is he.

The train pulls in at last, new coats alighting, no recognition in the sea of movement. Left and right, garments hurry by, beyond her interest and eyes.

Then she sees him. She knows him. She has always known him. Every coat around disappears and there is only one face…..looking directly at her.

 

The Meeting. 

 

Movements speed up while time dwindles to nothing. An endless approach, eyes never leaving eyes. Distance enlarges and diminishes. Keeping two apart. And drawing them closer together.

Without warning, time returns to normal measure. Then launches into overdrive, the two racing towards one another in hurried footsteps that seek to end the waiting.

In seconds, only two exist. One to one. Eyes drink eyes for the briefest of infinite moments, acknowledging the other soul. Hands reach out, hers to touch his face. The kindest face she’s ever known.  He allows this exploration for just some seconds, knowing her need to touch his flesh, to admit the understanding. His hands then reach to clasp her head and draw her to him. He breathes her in, recognising her scent as a long known drug from other years. No more delay. Lips meet. In hunger and knowing. They begin to devour. To consume the other. A taste of honey draws two closer still. Nothing may keep them apart. No sound exists but rushing blood in the ears as circulation escalates to building pressure.

A gasp apart. A wildness in the eyes. The anxious, endless lifetime of waiting is over.