Weary tears
Moisten lower lashes
Insufficient to fall free
Achy orbital cavities
Constrict the oculi
Head wrenching yawns
Cause sore jaw
Ear piercing pain
Drills drum deep
Bark parched throat clenches
Crunched up squashed in
Fifty minutes’ commute
Will soon be over
When travelling to and from work, I have backpacked: laptop, headset, headphones, compact umbrella, face masks, cotton bags, hand sanitisers, tissues, wallet, keys, key card, pens, pencils, eraser, sketchbook, propelling pencil. When possible, capture moments. The following and sketch above filled fifty minutes.
when one is really quite weary
how dreary dearie
surreptitiously seeking inspiration
questions
no right asking even if strong featured person opposite is known
consciously combined cosmetics for commuting?
muted tones without shading to avoid notice?
only one or one of many masks?
In my haste to leave the house for work on Thursday, I left my phone at home. The 50 minutes commute in quiet contemplation went surprisingly quickly.
The return journey was spent squeezed between the sharpest armrest and a person who couldn’t seem to get comfortable in a seat with barely enough room for one person let alone sharing it with me and my portly stature.
Prior to sitting, they asked if I was saving the part seat next to me for someone. Could they sit down? I was flustered being in the middle of retrieving things I had spilled on the floor from my back pack. Hurriedly, I said of course, of course!
They seemed to be on a mission to call every person in their contacts with the same questions: What are you doing? What did you do last weekend? What are you doing this weekend?
Somehow, I managed to sketch ideas for variations on a self portrait I’m planning to paint in watercolour. The break from the phone provided space for inspiration to move me forward.
In keeping with last week’s water theme, the following is a poem entitled, More Precious than Diamonds. I wrote it ten years ago, against a background of drought.
Delicious drops of dew glisten in the
Cool light of dawn, slowly, slowly, dripping
From leaf from bud from twig. Clouds speed above,
Drizzle foreshadows a downpour, to drench
Landscape wide. Streams and brooks rush, swell, rise, run
Into rivers, flooding deltas, breaking
Free, flowing out to sea to oceans deep.
Dive into life giving blue, cleanse body
And spirit, swim west to sway with undines.
Grasp the chalice of aitch two oh. Deeply
Drink to link with Druids of old and new.
Oft’ used for scrying by many a seer
To reflect and look from seen to unseen.
More precious than diamonds, worth guarding well!
Below is a recording of me reciting this post including the poem.
1. The three year old tests boundaries aboard the morning train. Hood doubling as a leash.
Screaming crocodile tears when repositioned back onto the seat.
Each escape a step further. Some onlookers smile in sympathy whilst others remain ignorant; enthralled by their phones.
2. Repetitive journeys over days, weeks, years, decades.
Seeing familiar faces yet never greeting or acknowledging their existence.
Silently, escalating to ground, filing to the day’s employment.
3. Evening commuters bunch and fan along the platform, aiming for uninhibited boarding, and to claim a seat; politely pushing, easing through the throng, seeking advantage.
theINFP 