Retirement
Without work, weeks wobble.
Leisure leaks from weekends
Infecting weekdays
With the laziness
Of Sunday’s soporific hours.
So, when you ask
“What day is it today?”
I struggle to recall.
For I,
Like you,
Have forgotten too
The shape of days,
The contour of the hour,
The power of Friday to excite
And the dread
Of Monday’s
Siren call to work.
Days become as one,
No tasks to give them form,
And each one born anew.
With absolutely nothing,
We must absolutely do.
© James Rainsford 2013
Leisure leaks from weekends
Infecting weekdays
With the laziness
Of Sunday’s soporific hours.
So, when you ask
“What day is it today?”
I struggle to recall.
For I,
Like you,
Have forgotten too
The shape of days,
The contour of the hour,
The power of Friday to excite
And the dread
Of Monday’s
Siren call to work.
Days become as one,
No tasks to give them form,
And each one born anew.
With absolutely nothing,
We must absolutely do.
© James Rainsford 2013
Note to readers: Your views are always welcome. I'll respond to all who visit here and leave a comment.
Kind regards to all, James.
Isn't that what we call 'freedom' ?! Me, I love being able to follow my nose every day, now I'm retired...
ReplyDeletethat i think can be a blessing and a curse you know....nothing you have to do...but you have to find something so the days dont lose texture completely...i guess getting to choose what you do is the consolation...smiles.
ReplyDeleteI wouldn't mind a bit of retirement! On the other hand, there's a kind of irony about the last line - as retirement for me too would be a time of absolute doing-- keeping it all going. Thanks for interesting take on it. k.
ReplyDeleteSounds like blissful retirement on one hand, but with the potential for doldrum! What is one to do when the day and hour loses her form? Perhaps you should consider taking up "Gangam Style Dancing." That'll make the hours melt away! http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9bZkp7q19f0
ReplyDeleteThis is really smooth. I enjoyed it.
ReplyDelete... follow ones own whims, not even knowing the day - not caring. Ha. Sounds like a dream to me.
ReplyDelete"Have forgotten too
The shape of days,
The contour of the hour,"...
Very, very pretty, those words.
Every day is a Sunday....and yet you write poetry....and good poetry...so you're still working, James! ~jackie~
ReplyDeletethe cry of some I know who are retired yet now you have the freedom to carve hours of your own.
ReplyDeleteMy dad retired and all of a sudden things fell apart. He did not remember what day it was.... Great capture, James.
ReplyDeleteTotally identity with this, James, although I'm not quite there yet. I still enjoy Friday nights and gear myself up for Monday on Sunday evening ...
ReplyDelete