Poem of the Month - April 2010

Physical pain is troublesome in more ways than one. I recently sustained a relatively minor in-the-scheme-of-things injury and thought that I would be able to overcome any resultant issues with a positive attitude. I am sure my fighting spirit has helped me to slowly conquer my aches and pains while managing to struggle on with my ever-expanding workload that refuses to slow down just because I have. But I have certainly not risen above the pain to keep going no matter what, I have, in fact, been made to accept that sometimes life just has to go on around me. I have to watch work piling up, the house getting dirtier, running late for appointments, or not making them at all. It has been a blow to my self-opinion that is for sure.

So I thought it might be appropriate to write a poem about the last few weeks, and especially on April Fools' Day, when the joke is on me:

Pain and its Shadows

In that moment when I trip, tumble, bump into furniture
Time stands still.
Muscles tear, skin is pierced, a primal scream surges inside me
While I am still going down, crash, down, crash
Until I get to the inevitable end of this unwanted detour
That threatens the equilibrium
Of my seriously time-limited life.

My husband, daughter come from their Sunday night perches
To see what is wrong.
'Are you all right Darling'. No, I'm bloody not!
'That's going to be a nasty bruise Mum'. Oh, you think?
Resisting the urge to add further sarcasm to muddy any hint of sympathy
I smile as best I can and thank them for coming to my aid.

Weeks later, I have lived through
A chaotic sequence of pain-led recovery.
One step forward, two back.
Sleepless nights have become shorter periods of wakefulness,
Trying to find a comfortable spot in bed.
Wheat packs, pawpaw ointment, Panadol Rapid have become my friends,
When will I climb stairs again without the geriatric lurches
That have become my signature style?

Trips in the car, I feel every bump in the road
In every movement I discovered new muscles that,
Rather than being joyful at the call to order, choose to join in on the pain circuit;
'You want to use us, NOW! There'll be a price!'

More sleepless nights, sheer agony.
I can't go on like this - pain, when will you go away,
When will I feel normal again?
When will I be able to take for granted getting up from the couch,
Picking up a bit of paper that has fallen on the floor,
Running to catch the tram?

Pain has no colour, it is shades of grey.
Its thud has no music, its is simply here to remind me
That I am human, flawed, imperfect.
But its message is also
That life will be better, giving me hope
That I will once again take life for granted,
And all will be well with the world.

Julie, April 1, 2010

Poem of the Month - March 2010

This month I want to present a poem that merges my two passions - careers and writing. I was motivated to write a poem about change, as I have been recently taking myself through a self-directed change and found myself wondering why change is so hard even when we are driving it. People who are about to be married usually go through a period of wondering if this is the right thing, of recalling the single life nostalgically - many people even change their minds several times, calling off the engagement and then going through the whole 'Will you marry me' thing again for the second or even third time.

Change is difficult and draining: there is always a mourning period during which we wonder why  we  want to leave our old, known way of  life behind,  then there are the doubts - is  this the right path to follow, and confusion - well if I am making a change, then why not consider a range of  other possible options.

This poem was written in about five minutes, so I doubt it is my best, but it is not up to me  to judge.

On change and uncertainty


Giving up the known is easy
In practice.
You simply say, I’ve had enough,
Close the door and go on your way.

But it isn’t really, is it?
We fumble  and procrastinate
We make excuses
Avoid the inevitable.

We question ourselves and our motives
We talk ourselves out of
Whatever it is we want to do
And we stop listening to the voice of change.

Crisis point, the time of not able to go back,
Afraid to go on
We take ourselves so seriously
And lose ourselves.

If change is forced on us, or even if not,
It will creep up, stealthily, unnoticeably -
The light is going out
In our old familiar room

We make excuses:
'It’s nice in the dark'
Or, 'It's not really dark'
Or, 'It is only a little bit dark'.

But darkness is complete.
We can live in it, or we can leave the room
And move to a nicer, brighter one
With no old furniture to bump into.

After we get used to this room and the view
We can work out what we want to go and get
From the old room, light a candle and go back there
And realise that, all too soon, it is no longer familiar.

Whatever is important to our new life
 - people, things, beliefs,
Can be gathered up and polished,
made meaningful in new ways.

As for the rest,
Go back,
Shut the door,
Turn the lock,
And walk away.