I am wrung out -
words, words, words; never-ending
articles, proposals, reviews,
blogs, diaries, journals,
word-spills, word whispers
and lists, interminable lists
of things that have to be done.
I suddenly stop, come
to a breathing space
and am like a cloth squeezed dry
a limp rag doll
eyes blind, flaxen hair a-straggle,
and all creativity deserts me.
We eat again in the garden,
a warm, still evening,
one of many in this blissful summer
that has all but escaped me;
my wine glass is empty,
our grandson's warring cockerels
are at rest ....
Tomorrow, Oxford.
Them, come Monday,
the treadmill will begin again.
And yet I love what I am doing,
Hauling bucketsful of words
from a well that may have run dry.
I trust it is not so; for without words
we would go hungry, the body and the soul.
we would go hungry, the body and the soul.
Yes, I think I can picture you in that garden, with wine glass in hand, enjoying the peace and quiet. Your love of words is evident and I am sure your well will never dry.
ReplyDeletePhew! How exhausting, Ann.
ReplyDeletefor without words
ReplyDeletewe would go hungry, the body and the soul.
How true is that?! ♥
O'h Ann you must be so tired but in a very good way.
ReplyDelete"hauling bucketsful of words from a well that may have run dry" wonderful. I would say you are living life to the fullest. Good that you have a peaceful respite time now and again. i love that Stevie Smith poem too.
ReplyDeleteThankyou all so much for your comforting words; the well is refilling, I can feel it, and am so grateful for the encouragement of friends.
ReplyDeleteOh, I have got here a bit later than others whose comments said better than I could what I wished to say.
ReplyDeleteLiving life...feeling full, and even ... after a rest, feeling happy to be refilled. Such are the good times our lives can give us. Enjoy the feeling of having that well refilled. xo
I could feel the exhaustion in your poem, but it is good to know that the words are still flowing and that you are energised again!
ReplyDeleteI could definitely relate to this one. For me, the words sometimes come so quickly they nearly slosh out of the bucket. Other times I sit wringing the cloth until a few words consent to drop out for me. Your images are lovely.
ReplyDelete