some days you don’t have it it’s gloom and it’s feeling tired and it’s a lightbulb that’s gone out… the nice dim one that you like because it’s the only one in the house that’s not unbearably bright… some days you don’t have it it’s rain and it’s feeling a little anxious
Nice to know I'm not the only one who would be totally thrown off by the death of one critical light bulb. :) Your writing is so uplifting to me. It's a joy to listen to.
“Anyway, I’m somewhat sensitive to lighting conditions and the loss of this particular bulb kind of threw me off.”
EXACTLY RIGHT! We all adapt, but things can knock us off balance…as is often the case, at some point future, you might realize that the “new light” from the “new bulb” is better in every way.
“well maybe, it’s some days, that are like this, but tomorrow you get a new one…”
“Tomorrow” is mystery and promise, but maybe the paradox is that we are presented with a “day without yesterday,” a “moment” of extraordinary mystery and promise. Not an explosive Big Bang, but something that happened everywhere simultaneously, a state of mystery and promise that the entire universe, all of space, was in simultaneously. This is a day without yesterday…all the baggage hasn’t had a chance to accumulate…
“Anyway, I’m somewhat sensitive to lighting conditions and the loss of this particular bulb kind of threw me off.”
EXACTLY RIGHT! We all adapt, but things can knock us off balance…as is often the case, at some point future, you might realize that the “new light” from the “new bulb” is better in every way.
“well maybe, it’s some days, that are like this, but tomorrow you get a new one…”
“Tomorrow” is mystery and promise, but maybe the paradox is that we are presented with a “day without yesterday,” a “moment” of extraordinary mystery and promise. Not an explosive Big Bang, but something that happened everywhere simultaneously, a state of mystery and promise that the entire universe, all of space, was in simultaneously. This is a day without yesterday…all the baggage hasn’t had a chance to accumulate…
"A community of experience." The day I wrote "Stoplight Makes Me Cry," it was a typical day in traffic, but I let the normal frustration of a red-light go where it would. I was amazed at the depth of feeling underneath such a mundane occurrence.
It sometimes seems that the words won’t come at pretty much exactly that moment when they’re most needed, like a disputatious sibling, born at cross-purposes and celebrating being so, until finally, they come when called for like the fourth or fifteenth time and throw a line which we grab and pull ourselves free of the bog our path through life has taken us through. Not quite what, when, or how we wanted, but sweetly precious nonetheless.
I had to look up The Song of the Lark—the painting Murray mentions so positively—to remind myself of the artist (Jules Breton, for anyone wondering). In doing so I learned from Wikipedia that Eleanor Roosevelt, that routinely remarkable woman, declared it her own personal favorite (though, as with declarations of favorites by politicians generally, I don’t expect that necessarily to have been her Final Answer), and that it had won a contest put on by the Chicago Daily News in conjunction with the ‘34 World’s Fair, earning it a label as the “most beloved work of art in America”, Depression-era World’s Fair Edition.
Looking it in order to ascertain the artist led of course to perusal of the work itself. Interesting that Murray described it as a woman “without much in the way of prospects”, I think he said, with a sunrise in the background, coming up again, giving her, and us, “another chance at [the day/life/understanding/etc.]”. Larks are notable heralds of dawn and new days; I wonder if they don’t provide the soundtrack for many a beginning, birth, or hope arising with the sun. I hope they do. But I’m a bird guy anyway.
I’ll leave here a wee bit of encouragement I sometimes offer the tired and frustrated: Keep fouling ‘em off ‘til they give you something to hit.
keep fouling 'em off till they give you something to hit! well said. Thank you, Perry! I appreciate the extended context on the painting. I think the readers will appreciate this in the comments section
I just subscribed and to read this as my intro to your writing and thought was freeing. This morning I woke up feeling uncentered and kinda crappy, but your poem and prose gave me the jolt of hope I needed. Thanks. I look forward to playing catch up with you.
This poem. This is the day, the poem that decided me, to subscribe. I've like other poems but this really spoke to me "the reader who can't read" "the writer who can't spill a word". Thank you.
“Anyway, I’m somewhat sensitive to lighting conditions and the loss of this particular bulb kind of threw me off.”
EXACTLY RIGHT! We all adapt, but things can knock us off balance…as is often the case, at some point future, you might realize that the “new light” from the “new bulb” is better in every way.
“well maybe, it’s some days, that are like this, but tomorrow you get a new one…”
“Tomorrow” is mystery and promise, but maybe the paradox is that we are presented with a “day without yesterday,” a “moment” of extraordinary mystery and promise. Not an explosive Big Bang, but something that happened everywhere simultaneously, a state of mystery and promise that the entire universe, all of space, was in simultaneously. This is a day without yesterday…all the baggage hasn’t had a chance to accumulate…
I thought I was the only vampire who insists on the dimmest of lighting... some people get home and turn on lights, I get home and turn them off. My ex used to think I was crazy. The weird thing is, I do like daylight, so perhaps I just can't handle the dissonance of night+bright indoor light... very astute to juxtapose this with anxiety.
I’m looking forward to reading your poem and the follow ups explaining your inspiration for writing them. I saw Wings of Desire today. What a great movie.
I could not have read this at a more perfect time. There really do just be those days where something you don't expect just knocks the wind out of your sails, but it will pass and you have a chance for the next day, if not, then thank goodness we have plenty more days.
Nice to know I'm not the only one who would be totally thrown off by the death of one critical light bulb. :) Your writing is so uplifting to me. It's a joy to listen to.
haha, sensitivities right
Perfectly said. Perfectly described. Perfectly poetic.
Thanks... nice to know we are not alone when those
days smack us down. And we will get through it.
❤️
not alone! definitely not. <3 thank you DeeDee
“Anyway, I’m somewhat sensitive to lighting conditions and the loss of this particular bulb kind of threw me off.”
EXACTLY RIGHT! We all adapt, but things can knock us off balance…as is often the case, at some point future, you might realize that the “new light” from the “new bulb” is better in every way.
“well maybe, it’s some days, that are like this, but tomorrow you get a new one…”
“Tomorrow” is mystery and promise, but maybe the paradox is that we are presented with a “day without yesterday,” a “moment” of extraordinary mystery and promise. Not an explosive Big Bang, but something that happened everywhere simultaneously, a state of mystery and promise that the entire universe, all of space, was in simultaneously. This is a day without yesterday…all the baggage hasn’t had a chance to accumulate…
So encouraging. Needed to hear something like this today. Thank you, Franco.
thank you, Ria. Glad that it helped you.
“Anyway, I’m somewhat sensitive to lighting conditions and the loss of this particular bulb kind of threw me off.”
EXACTLY RIGHT! We all adapt, but things can knock us off balance…as is often the case, at some point future, you might realize that the “new light” from the “new bulb” is better in every way.
“well maybe, it’s some days, that are like this, but tomorrow you get a new one…”
“Tomorrow” is mystery and promise, but maybe the paradox is that we are presented with a “day without yesterday,” a “moment” of extraordinary mystery and promise. Not an explosive Big Bang, but something that happened everywhere simultaneously, a state of mystery and promise that the entire universe, all of space, was in simultaneously. This is a day without yesterday…all the baggage hasn’t had a chance to accumulate…
I know the feeling. I wrote this a few years ago:
Sitting at the stoplight Makes me cry
More than sigh.
I'm mad. Fuck the light.
Fuck God for making me sit and fight.
Fight the heartbreak of my life.
Again.
I cannot move.
It's not allowed.
It's not perceived
As how
To be
When waiting.
So here I sit and cry.
Not tears of sorrow.
Tears of rage.
My heart breaks as I wait.
Let down again.
I have no right to expect
Any gift given out of respect.
Nothing for me
Is clear and free.
Clear, unfettered and free
For me.
Work hard. Wait your turn.
It's all you deserve
For being so bad.
So stupid.
So I'll had.
And even when you deserve,
It's taken away,
Like Christmas Eve
Snatched away
On Christmas Day.
It's Christmas Day everyday.
The heartbreak is real
As I sit at the wheel.
Nothing received without a fight.
Always a price to pay,
And the price is the light.
No matter how good I feel,
Or what delights.
The Red light
Reminds me of the fight,
The fight every day,
And the bills I must pay.
No free lunch.
No free ride.
Just acceptance of the tide
That flows so free,
Doing what it will
With no concern for me.
And so I wait.
And curse.
And rage.
And yell.
And cry.
.
thank you so much for sharing this with me Jeff. I feel the connection in our words.
"A community of experience." The day I wrote "Stoplight Makes Me Cry," it was a typical day in traffic, but I let the normal frustration of a red-light go where it would. I was amazed at the depth of feeling underneath such a mundane occurrence.
So true, the most simple everyday moments can be on fire with with inspiration. I love when that happens.
👍
Not alone is how I feel here so thanks. Ans I love the comment in youe notes from Murray about being your own channel.
I am now calling days like you described as just Skip-a-day :)
we all need some skip-a-days. Glad you enjoyed it, Jen. Thank you.
Reminded me of lyrics from Van Morrison's "Brand New Day"...
"I was lost and double crossed
With my hands behind my back
I was longtime hurt and thrown in the dirt
Shoved out on the railroad track
I've been used, abused and so confused
And I didn't have nowhere to run
But I stood and looked
And my eyes got hooked
On that beautiful morning sun"
Beautiful, poignant, and uplifting lyrics—thank you for making the connection, Mankh.
It sometimes seems that the words won’t come at pretty much exactly that moment when they’re most needed, like a disputatious sibling, born at cross-purposes and celebrating being so, until finally, they come when called for like the fourth or fifteenth time and throw a line which we grab and pull ourselves free of the bog our path through life has taken us through. Not quite what, when, or how we wanted, but sweetly precious nonetheless.
I had to look up The Song of the Lark—the painting Murray mentions so positively—to remind myself of the artist (Jules Breton, for anyone wondering). In doing so I learned from Wikipedia that Eleanor Roosevelt, that routinely remarkable woman, declared it her own personal favorite (though, as with declarations of favorites by politicians generally, I don’t expect that necessarily to have been her Final Answer), and that it had won a contest put on by the Chicago Daily News in conjunction with the ‘34 World’s Fair, earning it a label as the “most beloved work of art in America”, Depression-era World’s Fair Edition.
Looking it in order to ascertain the artist led of course to perusal of the work itself. Interesting that Murray described it as a woman “without much in the way of prospects”, I think he said, with a sunrise in the background, coming up again, giving her, and us, “another chance at [the day/life/understanding/etc.]”. Larks are notable heralds of dawn and new days; I wonder if they don’t provide the soundtrack for many a beginning, birth, or hope arising with the sun. I hope they do. But I’m a bird guy anyway.
I’ll leave here a wee bit of encouragement I sometimes offer the tired and frustrated: Keep fouling ‘em off ‘til they give you something to hit.
keep fouling 'em off till they give you something to hit! well said. Thank you, Perry! I appreciate the extended context on the painting. I think the readers will appreciate this in the comments section
I just subscribed and to read this as my intro to your writing and thought was freeing. This morning I woke up feeling uncentered and kinda crappy, but your poem and prose gave me the jolt of hope I needed. Thanks. I look forward to playing catch up with you.
many many thanks, John. I'm so appreciative. Looking forward to interacting with you. Cheers!
This poem. This is the day, the poem that decided me, to subscribe. I've like other poems but this really spoke to me "the reader who can't read" "the writer who can't spill a word". Thank you.
thank you so much, Sue. I really appreciate the paid subscription. Means a lot to me. Makes me so happy that you could relate to this piece. :)
“Anyway, I’m somewhat sensitive to lighting conditions and the loss of this particular bulb kind of threw me off.”
EXACTLY RIGHT! We all adapt, but things can knock us off balance…as is often the case, at some point future, you might realize that the “new light” from the “new bulb” is better in every way.
“well maybe, it’s some days, that are like this, but tomorrow you get a new one…”
“Tomorrow” is mystery and promise, but maybe the paradox is that we are presented with a “day without yesterday,” a “moment” of extraordinary mystery and promise. Not an explosive Big Bang, but something that happened everywhere simultaneously, a state of mystery and promise that the entire universe, all of space, was in simultaneously. This is a day without yesterday…all the baggage hasn’t had a chance to accumulate…
we all adapt, you said it my friend
I thought I was the only vampire who insists on the dimmest of lighting... some people get home and turn on lights, I get home and turn them off. My ex used to think I was crazy. The weird thing is, I do like daylight, so perhaps I just can't handle the dissonance of night+bright indoor light... very astute to juxtapose this with anxiety.
Thank you, glad you enjoyed that juxtaposition
Hoping for the positive things in life keeps us going. Never give up hope.
thank you so much Billy, and thank you for signing up as a founding paid member! so thankful!
I’m looking forward to reading your poem and the follow ups explaining your inspiration for writing them. I saw Wings of Desire today. What a great movie.
Isn't it so great. I'm glad you enjoyed it. :)
yes, never give up hope!
This is wonderful poem - your voice over is superb, soulful and full of expression.
ah thank you. I really appreciate that feedback. :)
This is a really beautiful poem. Spoke to me a lot.
thank you, Kenneth!
I could not have read this at a more perfect time. There really do just be those days where something you don't expect just knocks the wind out of your sails, but it will pass and you have a chance for the next day, if not, then thank goodness we have plenty more days.
yes, thank goodness we have more chances
This I loved - it really struck a chord. Do you mind if I print it and post it in my home?
go for it! I don't mind at all <3.
Plus, I just finally replaced all the burned out bulbs in the light string around the gazebo. They have been out since Hurricane Ian.
aw, good to keep them shining. Thanks, Sandy!