Writing and Waiting

Contrary to appearances in this place, I’m actually writing a lot more than I have for many months. Hidden within the ramblings of my thriving journal some useful thoughts and potential insights seem to be bubbling up. Before sunrise and in the dim of night #micropoetry blossoms in the fertile soil that is Twitter.

But this place, the blog, slumbers, mainly because it lacks the tactile qualities of real paper and the practice of the art of handwriting using a real fountain pen.

Too often the things I feel I should write here have a shelf-life, or some form of response-expectancy. Today’s news, or yesterday’s is fine, but once things move on the post feels devalued, and often sits in draft, unloved. (Technically I have another blog I could post them too, which I tend to forget, a place for fragments.)

However, 140 words in, I finally have got to the bit I was planning on posting, another of my bits of doggrel inspired by overheard conversation. No obscure or odd comment this time, just a very familiar question.

“Are you ready for Christmas?”
The colleagues ask,
The cash tills sing,
As anxious kids countdown,
Door by door.

“Are you ready for Christmas?”
Asks sad Advent,
Whispers Spirit.
Timeless, angels wonder,
Beyond years.

“Are you ready for Christmas?”
Wrong question.
They weren’t then
As God slid crying gift
In our midst.

Copyright (C) 2015 Stuart Mousir-Harrison

 

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