My Wednesday Hai-
ku doesn’t quite fit the for-
mat of a Haiku.
My Wednesday Hai-
ku doesn’t quite fit the for-
mat of a Haiku.
It all started last Wednesday… at about… eleven o’clock in the morning, no later than eleven fifteen… at the latest. But, by twelve o’clock, it was all over. Done. Finished. Fi-into!
And, then, it started again.
This starting and stopping carried on for the rest of the day, finally stopping for good (or so I thought) at about half past ten late that evening.
It had been quite a difficult day, neither one thing or the other for long, and never both simultaneously – which, I think, was a bit of a Godsend (if that’s the right word).
I slept but little, and when I did, it was a fitful sleep full of the stuff that dreams are made on, if I may be so bold as to quote Prospero from ‘The Tempest’ by William Shakespeare here – if it isn’t alright to do so… I won’t, and please consider that last part… unsaid.
The next day was a Thursday, as much like a Wednesday as you can get without repeating the Wednesday in a Groundhog Day sort of fashion – if you haven’t seen the film Groundhog Day you might not get that reference, if you have… then you probably might.
So, Next day. Thursday. Started off as most Thursdays do, with the morning, followed by the afternoon, it proceeded to the evening and on into the night. No problems there, right?
Wrong! it kept on starting. And stopping. And starting up again. Sometimes it went on for quite a while, and you thought ‘hooray!’ and then it would stop.
When it stopped, it did it with no warning, no screech of brakes (which is just a motoring metaphor) and no— warning (have I already said ‘warning’? I do tend to say ‘warning’ too much, so that the word becomes almost a cliché, and if not a cliché how about… a hackneyed phrase, although I do know that one word upon its own is not really a phrase. I’m not that silly… well, I am, but let us not get into name-calling.
Rupert! Wendy! Nathaniel!
Sorry, I do so dislike it when I do that.; I still do it, but I do dislike it. Obviously not enough to stop doing it, but, hey, you know me. And if you don’t… ‘hello, my name is *insert own name here*
As you can tell, this is an unfinished piece at the time of its writing. That is until it ends, when it will be a finished piece… of sorts, after a fashion, possibly.
So, where were we? Or should I say ‘when?’
I should? Okay, ‘when’. ‘When! When.
I feel much better now, thank you for asking – and if you didn’t ask, thank you for not asking (I am nothing if not polite).
Thursday, that is when.
When it all started again.
When stop it was not,
and the starter’s gun was hot,
and off it went!
It ran, and ran, and ran, and ran, and ran…
until all it’s running was spent!
And then it stopped.
It did this a lot.
Not, that I minded a minuscule jot.
Because I was becoming used to it by now,
the unfamiliar was becoming familiar somehow,
the rare was becoming common,
the extinct did live again
(If that is possible)
and that is when…
… two of them started up.
Not just one… but two.
Which is double.
At this rate I shall soon be overrun
by the starting stopping things!
Do you see the trouble that a new day brings?
Do you?
I so wish it was Wednesday again,
before all this began to begin;
and that time would stop there,
and not start again.
It all started last Wednesday… at about… eleven o’clock in the morning, no later than eleven fifteen… at the latest. But, by twelve o’clock, it was all over. Done. Finished. Fi-into!
And, then, it started again.
This starting and stopping thing,
which I mentioned earlier.
Tuesday is here,
until it’s gone
(see Lynyrd Skynyrd’s ‘Tuesday’s Gone’ for more on that last part),
and it followed closely on the heels of Monday
(see Shakespeare’s ‘Hamlet’ for more on that),
precursoring Wednesday
(precursoring is a made-up word)
and claiming to be ‘Hump Day’
(see a camel for details about ‘humps’).
So, should we worry about what the day is called,
or where it lays in the ‘seven’?
(or ‘eight’ – see The Beatles about ‘eight’).
Well, I may have a lot of questions;
but, answers?
What do you think?
Posted in Poetry
Tagged #Humpday, #Monday, #poetry. #poem, #silly, #Tuesday, #Wednesday, @Days, words
I can’t remember
any Wednesday,
in November,
better than this one;
which is not saying
that they were any wetter
or any drier;
but, this one is more recent,
half decent,
and I’m snuggled
in front of the fire.
Is it Thursday?
Is it still Tuesday?
Well, it all depends
Upon where in the world you are
Or I am.
You might be on the previous day
Or the next
Or the same
But, teetering upon the brink of changing the date upon the calendar.
As might I.
If you are in my time zone
You might not be in my rhyme zone
To steal a moment
You could be in a crime zone
Or a lemon and lime zone
If that’s how Cockneys might describe it.
All I am saying is
That wherever you are
And whenever you are
Please spare a second to think of those that are currently languishing in the past
And also those that are ploughing their furrows in the future.
Just a moment though;
You wouldn’t want to waste your rhyme
Contemplating just any old miment in time.