"She refused to be bored, chiefly because she wasn't boring." Zelda Fitzgerald

Friday, December 17, 2010

Poetry Friday: A Poem About Inner Workings

 I am often asked how and sometimes why I do so much ("with three kids", they say incredulously!) besides just the laundry and the vacuuming...how is fuzzy...it's helter skelter, it's sometimes messy, it's creativity and prioritization and a million little invented systems to make it all work...but, why?

That's the poem for today.
Machinery Maintenance
I create, to keep my shiny, inner gears twirling.
The wild smudge of cyan on my brush tip
Is antidote to the angsty smear in my mind.
All these poems and paintings and frittatas
 I throw them tumbling madly from:
My hands, my soul, my brain, my very self.
If I stopped, I'm afraid the works would gum.
I would hate to see my interior hum,
Grind to a slow, pained, sticky glugg
The psychologist would put his ear
To my chest and furrow his brow
"Hmm...I'd say she's stalled. Still living,
But just kind of frozeny-glued up inside.
We see it all the time with these mothers.
I wouldn't worry.
She's good for another 40 years!"

To see other Poetry Friday participants in action, visit: The Poem Farm

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