“If thou wilt not fight thy battle of life because in selfishness thou art afraid of the battle, thy resolution is in vain: nature will compel thee.” – The Bhagavad-Gita
The sort of exhaustion that comes with multiple night shifts tends to push me one way or another. Often, I become tearful and / or angry. Sometimes, tiredness turns into mellowness, and I channel my inner-hippy: the one that wants to make daisy chains, and love, after lighting some sandalwood joss, and candles, whilst playing early Tyrannosaurus Rex, or Kula Shaker.
That remembers flares, long hair on blokes, and – only just – Plum Street.
I’m off to a poetry group tonight, which is probably what brought this to mind: that, and the fact that I’m fortunate that my walks to and from work involve crossing a park, and a field.
Publishing this in October, though it was written in May.
The Beauty of a Post-Shift Sky
Sometimes, world,
you bowl me over:
with this blue
meeting this green
greeting this white
of daisies, and
this yellow,
of dandelions.
Even the spent
clock heads
of aging weeds:
the way
a blackbird
skims the surface
of bin, and blade.
A short tree chair
warms, and rests
my tired behind,
lessening the bite
of mid-May air.
My friends wish me
to be angry with you:
with the hunger mongers,
with the managers
of fear, and hate, and war.
How I must weary them
when I say:
in a moment,
just give me
one more May-blossom
one more dove call
one more cloud wisp
one more moment
on this kindly
old stump.