When – a Diversion of Desires

When – A Diversion of Desires

In some ways this poem is a playful, even cynical, swipe at our human life and our discontent.  It can also be read on a deeper level.  A longing, to linger, to be more present.  More present to ourselves, to each other and to the vicissitudes that life gifts to us in the here and now.

When – A Diversion of Desires

When we are

empty

We hunger

to be full.

When we are

Full

We wish

To be empty.

Just another bit

I’m sure I can have more

The recipe is a hit

Why had I not tried it before?

When we are

Alone

We hanker

For intimacy.

When we are

In a crowd

We search

For solitude.

The silence deafens quiet ears

That hearken for a voice

The milling crowd fuels my fears

This racket was not my choice!

When we are

Caught in the complex

We reminisce

On simpler days.

When we are

In the simple

We want to

Complicate things.

I’m caught in a bind yet again

However will it unravel?

This tedious cleaning is such a bore

I think I’ll go and travel!

When in

The wind of winter

We shiver

For still summer sun.

When under scorching rays

We want the crisp

Cool winter air.

We abhor

Hypocrisy in others

Yet cherish

Mysterious paradox

In ourselves.

When busy

We writhe

For rest.

When unoccupied

We plunge

Into mindless activity.

When we are

Here

We want to be there

Anywhere!

When will

We learn

To be

Content?

When I look into your face,

Or gaze upon that scene

I’m transported from within my place

To another where I’ve been.

 

I’ve been there when I’m captivated

Enchanted by the beauty,

I’ve been there when I’m motivated

When transcendence returns newly.

 

Yet somehow I struggle to be present

To you, to me, to all,

Our busy minds have us sent

To other longings and another call.

 

I hope I learn to pause, to see

The wonder in you and me,

The sheer delight in all around

The present moment that sets us free.

Simon C.J Falk     22 March 2015

Advertisement

The Fighter

The Fighter

We all know that life is busy for so many people.  Some days we take it in our stride. On other days it annoys, frustrates or frightens us. This poem explores some of that condition.  It places the primal fight-flight mechanism right into the breach of the dialogue.

 

The Fighter

 I am the boxer

Flailing on the rope

Trying to knock away my opponent

And I fear I cannot cope.

 

The demands come

Like constant jabs

Shooting pains

At times from various directions

Google calendar alerts

Email inboxes

Pushy ‘push notifications’

Piles of ‘snail mail’

Tetchy texts

And more besides

Come in.

“Can we make a time?”

“This opportunity not to be missed!”

“Have you read those documents?”

I want to shred those documents!

 

I am the wrestler

Grappling with the foe

Trying hard to throw them off

Then down the road I’ll go.

 

Then there are the regulars

The constant appointments

Didn’t I just write a report?

“Umm, that was last month’s one,

now we need another one.”

“We haven’t seen you at our group for a while.”

 

I am the runner

Running from the malaise

Darting here and darting there

Fleeing all my days

 

Ahh, a free night!

Put the phone on silent!

Get out of town.

Go to a quiet place

And keep company with your soul.

Be quick!

Or your opportunity will get eaten up!

 

I am the writer

Fighting with pen again

Trying to make some sense

And to verbalise the pain

 

To anaesthetise the pain

 

Or pour it down the drain

 

And purge away the drain

 

Before I go insane.

 

 

Simon C.J. Falk  17 May 2014

At the End of the Day

At the End of the Day

Our lives can be a busy balance of many tasks.  Work, play, time with loved ones – all of these make their claim. Even maintaining our blog-space can stretch us into the beyond.  This little post is to encourage the busy and the beset among us.  It is inspired by a clip from Victor Hugo’s delightful Les Miserables.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vHwyCp6ah6U .

 

At the End of the Day

The day is done

We slump down

Upon the chair

Our shoulders sagging so.

The weight of those tense-taut muscles

Presses on the seat.

Adrenalin uncoils in us

Ever gradually

As we come to rest.

And

It meets

A sigh rising

From deep within the chasm

Of our heart.

At the end of the day.

 

What has today brought?

Not nearly half of what

We said we’d do

Has come to light.

Yet

The day was full.

And

We are spent.

At the end of the day.

 

Now

glancing over the screen

our “reader” catalogues

the latest posts.

Oh, to linger upon them!

But

My tired eyes

Strain at the screen.

And

that comment

So kind!

How I wish

I could engender

A kind, profound utterance

To thank them.

A smile,

Could offer a smile.

At the end of the day.

 

Then

Inside our heart of hearts

A glow kindles within

As a compassion

Caresses us.

A feeble and fumbling

Affinity

stammers into our sentences

as we share

with so many others

that knowledge

that we all fail

to accomplish

But we have done something!

We cherish a celebration

of that step

of something

At the end of the day.

 

 

Simon C.J. Falk 3 May 2014