You know how yesterday’s poem encouraged leaving the rage on the page? Well, I took my own advice this morning and had a good auld vent. Basically, being post-viral and sort of up and doing, I was feeling overwhelmed, tired, emotional, cranky…the usual way you feel when you aren’t diseased enough to be confined to quarters, but are not one hundred percent. My mother used to call it a bad case of the blahs. Got it in spades today.
So just a few lines today. Meanwhile, I am going to enjoy one of my Valentine’s Day presents – The Poetry Pharmacy: Tried and True Prescriptions for the Heart, Mind and Soul. William Sieghart put that volume together. There is also an Emergency Poet, who operates out of a de-commissioned ambulance. Deborah Alma, the Emergency Poet, has recently found premises in Shropshire to set up an actual shop front Poetry Pharmacy. They got a mortgage to buy it and all!
Meanwhile, between leafing through that volume and waving the sage around I’ve been working out my own prescription.
Post Viral Blahs
When everything is just too much,
but nothing feels ever enough.
No bloody effort ever will...!
Damn her eyes when she is right!
That Marie Kondo tidy up making
the boudoir all sweetness and light.
Copyright © 2019 Bee Smith. All rights reserved.