08 February 2016

rainy grey stormy Monday, occasional bursts of brilliant sunlight

Grey
What is the nub of such a plain grey day?
Does it have one? Does it have to have one?
If small is beautiful, is grey, is plain?
Or rather do we sense withdrawal, veiling,
a patch, a membrane, an eyelid hating light?
Does weather have some old remit to mock
the love of movement, colour, contrast –
primitives, all of us, that wilt and die
without some gorgeous dance or drizzle-dazzle.
Sit still, and take the stillness into you.
Think, if you will, about the absences –
sun, moon, stars, rain, wind, fog and snow.
Think nothing then, sweep them all away.
Look at the grey sky, houses of lead,
roads neither dark nor light, cars
neither washed nor unwashed, people
there, and there, decent, featureless,
what an ordinariness of business
the world can show, as if some level lever
had kept down art and fear and difference and love
this while, this moment, this day
so grey, so plain, so pleasing in its way!
Let’s leave the window, and write.
No need to wait for a fine blue
to break through. We must live, make do.



5 comments:

  1. It is NOT a shitty metaphor. It sounds like truth.

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  2. Maybe you are just getting better. That rings true. Ring them bells. Hallelujah! Sending love.

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  3. 'We must live, make do.'
    I will be thinking of you tomorrow.

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  4. Not a shitty metaphor at all. It is like an ocean. No matter how much life and support might be under you, it can be lonely. Progress is hard to discern in the abyss. It drifts all around, circuitous as i am imagine a jellyfish. It's vapid, salty as tears, endless, and blue. You never know if the sun will come out that day or if storms and waves will overtake you. It's a vulnerable place, and as you said, tedious- it can feel like a life of waiting. It's like having only constellations of answers to navigate by, and even when you have your bearings, its often feeling lost in it. At least in my experience. But i'm a drag about this!

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