Shades of Sunday

Sundays
Traditionally quiet
And quiet in reality
But there’s a buzz
That cannot be heard
Even by the few that pass by
Cogs whirring and plans cementing
Wasn’t the weekend the outlet of the bold?
Not so this damp morning;
Dreams of a Monday
Steadily carving
In the recesses of the mind
And into the rhythms of time

Elevated,
But only in location
Planning out the rest of the week
Kept amused
By a tree stump sticking out
Into a mountain of shovelled snow,
Interesting to no one else
But all I can see as I look out
On this damp, empty day.
Where did the world creep away?
There’s no one else here
Empty, post apocalyptic;
But calming, in some odd way.

It’s funny how your perceptions of Sunday are always changing, depending on who you are. Is Sunday your rest day? Is it the day to catch up on cartoons? Is Sunday morning, as Kurt Cobain said, everyday? Or perhaps as Lou Reed said, a time when the world’s behind you?
To me, it’s the calm before the storm, in every single way.
Universities tend to be quiet on weekends. Every person who walks by is a case to be thoroughly examined, Sunday is when they won’t be lost in the masses. It’s the morning after Saturday’s madness and a chance to catch your breath. For me, it brings the excitement of the next week, the Monday when I do my radio work, and a chance to do my homework and chill out simultaneously, without being guilty.

Ah, the many shades of a Sunday! How’s your Sunday?

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The shadowy shades of a different Sunday, as I could see it. 

Weekend Expectations

It begins,
The anticipation
With every drag down
Comes the reactionary lift up
The almighty rescuer
Never far from mind
Dreams of the weekend
Breaking the falls
The rising mercury
In the internal units
One-man coolant

And then it begins,
Never explicitly announced
Merging in with the work,
The falls;
Losing awareness at long last
Or so it may seem,
Metered is out, analog is in,
Everything based on just the feel within
Blissful waves
What else?
And then you wake
To 11 PM.

Living for the weekend maybe be someone’s catchphrase, but it’s a lot others’ way of life and lifeline. But then it’s gone in the blink of an eye… I’m mourning the loss and passing of my weekend, and it’s only Saturday evening.

Curse DST.

Stormed In

Pit, pat, whoosh
A tingle on the tip
On the tip of my nose
A signal transmitted
To the one who knows
A sign, if anything,
It’s time to go home

Pit, pat, whoosh
And a tick tock tick;
Joined in harmony
For an experimental collaboration
For an hour or three
Drumming away
Keeping time with me

Pit, pat, whoosh
And an electronic beep!
Keep indoors they say,
As much as you can keep
Now on your telly, or old fashioned cathode-ray:
There’s a storm out and about
And it’s here to stay

Pit, pat, whoosh
And the rustling in the fridge
Make sure you got supplies!
Ice creams are for winters,
Ice creams don’t lie!
But don’t get carried away,
Get work done before the power dies

Pit, pat, whoosh
This is getting a bit repetitive,
A bit scary and boring
The rain just hasn’t stopped!
It’s been pouring and pouring,
The background while I sleep
It’s an indoor morning, and not one for exploring

Pit, pat, whoosh
Bleep bleep bloop!
Cancellations and censored swears,
Barred indoors there’s boredom and panic
Of which I’m quite aware
Looking out the window
With a sigh, a frown and a stare

Pit, pat, whoosh
More like a single long droning sound
And the whirring of cogs,
For I’ve found work to do
Indoor days needn’t be logs
The sound’s quite relaxing honestly
And there are books and books to hog

 

We genuinely do have storms, and their main risks are becoming annoying, and freezing. I have had to cancel stuff indeed, I suppose WordPress must be my sole support for the weekend. And computer science. Lots of readings. It’s surprisingly really, because I’m convinced computer scientists don’t know how to read anymore. My class and I are living breathing proof.

Have a safe weekend!

The Path

Trudging down the path
The beat path I knew well
A path my shoes had smoothed over
And the lack of friction was proper hell

It seems days of walking
Had exposed something buried
And the something buried caught my eye
As along the walk I scurried

Ooh, shiny! said my brain
Let’s stop and take a look
So stop I did before the sand
And another look I took

Nothing particularly interesting
Just probably photo-worthy
For whatever it was, that faux flash
It seemed just quite earthy

But I’m on a well-worn path!
And schedule I must not betray!
Oh, can I stop and smell the rose?
Should I go or should I stay?

As, of course, Smart Alec will say
There’s nothing here to smell;
It’s a bloody sun-reflection
As a closer look will tell!

Well, tell that to my distracted soul
That’s stopped to take a snap
And just as the shutter closed once
Time sneaked up on me and gave me a smack

Heavens, where did my time go!?
The shiny thing is gone!
“Of course, you silly thing,
It only shines when the sun’s on.”

And now it’s 10:30,
And I trudge along home,
The day’s gone, but it’s too early for bed:
Just some more time to waste alone.

Sunday

There’s a boulder in my head

In the space between my ears

Just behind my temple

And I’ve never known its weight like I have on a Sunday morning

The boulder between my ears:

We’ve done some mineral analysis!

Turns out it’s shining gold,

Reflecting the amply written pages of books in the afternoon sun

The boulder between my ears,

It’s solid crystal diamond,

Under pressure, it’s on it’s way,

As the black starts to gleam, it matches the navy of the evening sky

The boulder between my ears,

It’s ferromagnetic

It draws me to my pillow,

And then disappears from sight.

 

Ladies and gentlefolk, an analysis of my brain. That is five minutes of your lives you are never getting back. Enjoy the rest of your Sunday.

Fromage

Les fromages, ah, ils sont merveilleux !

Le brie,

Il est ma vie;

Ni trou,

Ni fondu;

Je ne discrimine pas contre eux.

 

I’ve been thinking about cheese all day. This was inevitable.

This, ladies and gentlefolk, is the very definition of 2 AM poetry.

Sea-Change

I can’t see

What lies beneath the surface

Clean, white, pristine

Sands without a colour

But certainly not without personality.

Smooth, flat ground,

Icy slips,

Treacherous dips;

And I can’t see

So I simply place faith

And take a step ahead

Only to fall knee-deep

Into the sky’s puke.

 

It’s started to snow! I’ve already gone and fallen into a thigh-high pit of snow by walking where I thought there was ground, which is a perfect way to begin the winter season. Here’s to four more months!

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Of this, just five feet higher, colder, and more miserable and devoid of motivation. Yeah, your welcome for me brightening your morning. 

Time

I’m being a little emo here, but here goes.

One good thing

About having more time this year,

Having time to really think

About what’s going on around me,

And to really see what’s happening

As opposed to last year’s rollercoaster:

”Ensure the arms and feet

Don’t leave the ride at any moment”;

Is that I finally have the time

And the mental headspace

To miss mum and dad

(And my sister, because she’ll be mad if I leave her out).

 

Blrlrrlrlrrlrllrlrlrl (shakes head and arms vigorously)

Thankful

This Thanksgiving
As I turned to face the turkey,
She gave me the hairy eyeball
And asked,
“What have you done to deserve me?”

So I wracked my brains
And thought of the year past,
But all I could bring up
Were all the times my
Personal flag flew at half mast

I’ve won a bag full of adrenaline
And some very close shaves
I think of all the money
Adventurers blow
That I have just saved!

And I’m not an insomniac,
I’m down as soon as I hit the pillow,
But what I do in the hours
Before I snooze
Is something I’ll never know

But the work is going just fine!
You’re not falling in the grind,
Yes it’s true, but the only
Reason for that
Is I’m bored out of my mind

I have all the time
And none of the motivation
Remind me of that and we’ve
Hit panic station:
I’m the embodiment of generations

So I frown at the turkey,
And what I’m going to say
Has nought yo do
With my fears
But it works anyway.

I say, “Hear, hear, turkey, you’re a meat!
Evolution’s got you beat,
I’m a Human with my tools
And a civilisation built by fools
In the upper echelons of philosophy

And you’re nought but a dinner treat to me
So you’re getting served tonight
By capitalistic decree
And for all we speak of thankfulness,
This has nought to do with me.”

Domestic Woes

There aren’t monsters under beds,
I think I can say that for sure;
There’s one in the bathroom
And it’s a toilet paper-vore:
Yesterday, I changed rolls,
Today, I’m changing roles;
It’s the third one this week
That’s just been devoured whole
So one and all,
Lo and behold:
Your poet’s stepped into
The investigator’s mould—
Is this a stroke of genius
By a next door neighbour bold,
Who has us in the palm of their hand,
And our rolls in their stranglehold?
Have I just lost all my sense
Of normal space and time?
Maybe all those tests are now
Eating this brain of mine
Or is this just a frantic
Effort on life’s part
To get this indoorsey CS kid
To finally trip down to Walmart?
Either way, one and all,
The joke’s growing old;
This is not the college story
I’d like twenty years hence told!

 

For the record, I’m not really indoorsey, I’m just cold. It’s 9 degrees outside and we’re on the lakefront. It has dramatic effects on a nice warm day’s efforts to keep you from freezing. It belittles the sun until it loses all motivation, and if that doesn’t ruin your day, you need to sign up for a CS degree.
And I really did change the toilet rolls yesterday, and they’re over today. Someone is eating toilet paper here, and this is not the sort of thing I imagined would make a Sherlock plot scene. “Mr. Holmes, we’ve been loo-ted!”

Sunday update: four. Four rolls.