I can’t believe that it’s Thursday! Again!
I have difficulties believing in lots of things,
Though I am assured that they do exist…
Shall I make a list?
No? Thought not.
As you are a discerning reader, dear friend,
And because of that start I must make amends.
And so a proper poem, in all it’s formulaeic guise,
Will be profered to you; from the newly humbled to the eternally wise.
Or if preferred, as it’s you, I’ll a nonsense one devise.
And, thus, I shall begin…
I wandered out this Thursday morn,
Not quite happy enough to be forlorn;
The birds they sang as they are wont to do
In a sky that was one of the fifty shades of blue;
And ‘I’ was grey, or Grae – it’s all the same;
What’s the difference in a label or a name?
Well, to continue on and on a little while;
I wandered out, single file; that is, without a doubt, what I did.
And, thus, I shall begin…
‘ibid’ a line as quoted earlier,
‘etc.’ could your dervish ‘be’ any whirlier?
“What?” you ask “Are you going on about?”
I’m ‘Stream of Consciousnessing’ my poem
I have the wherewithal within without which
Worlds would wilt, and words will waste away.
Did you really think there would be
Any sense in what my poem had to say?
Rhetorical questions are seldom answered. Isn’t that so?
Yes? Well, maybe they are, I don’t really know.
I haven’t an opinion on the depth of that question.
It’s not an easy notion to the mind’s suggestion
That aids the process of mental digestion.
And, it can put you in a rather awkward situation.
You do know that you can never reclaim the minutes lost
In reading this poem, they are a high-priced temporal cost.
And what that means I have no knowledge,
But will move on to the apposite rhyme with: ‘college’
‘Any excuse,’ once said a moose, ‘to redefine a quote moosely;
Is,’he prattled, ‘ a quote verbatim from me,’ which I can here paraphrase quite loosely.
‘Is there an end in sight?’ I almost hear you ask;
But, as I am only wavering, not frowning, I return to my task.
And in the unconfirmed glory of success I bask,
Like a shark, with my nearly finished malarkey.
Only to find that it is still Thursday on my mind, not Friday.
Alas and alack, I’ll get the sack; then having got it…
I’ll have to put it back.
Am I on the right track?
Have I lost the plot?
When ever have I not?
‘This must be Thursday.’*
‘Thor’s Day’ – a day for attonement?
A day for breathing in deeply of the sun-chilled air.
A day for living and being; for giving – a fine day to share.
A thirst for life day?
One of the Seven. A day like any other day;
If it wasn’t for the order in which it was put –
Towards the end of the week (not manic like a moody Monday)
And close to the weekend we seek
(yet, not a TGI-Friday with it’s night of release
Or a Supersonic-Saturday when the fun just won’t cease)
But a just-past-midweeek-not-yet-the-weekend sort of a day.
Arthur Dent ‘never could get the hang of Thursdays’*
And if you were born on a Thursday – how far have ‘you’ left to go?
Coincidentally, I was born full of Wednesday’s woe
(but, I guess you could tell that well before I told you so).
Thursday the ninth of May, two thousand and thirteen
When for some the pains and agonies of life still keep hurting,
When the past is looming large or fading small;
When tomorrow is just a day that never comes at all.
This, is Thursday!
* both quotes are by the character Arthur Dent from Douglas Adams’ ‘The Hitch-Hiker’s Guide to the Galaxy’