Sunday Arvo Waltz with the Long, Dark Teatime of the Soul
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Sunday arvo, the quiet hours,
the long dark teatime
when souls who seek rest and frolicking bliss
must steel themselves before
the working week,
quiet themselves
without noise,
engage with fun, delight, maybe peace,
and breathe slowly, quietly,
hopefully as the new week emerges a few hours anon.
My soul resonates with Douglas Adams’ quote,
yet stubbornly butts up against it,
as my usual week,
my usual time,
my rest-seeking soul
fights the dullness of the
nine-to-five “assurance” of the world
which calls me “wrong” for creating,
“right” for stressing, and
“weird” for seeking more than assurance that
paychecks come and exhaustion reigns.
I’ve been called irresponsible,
felt irresponsible,
screamed irresponsible
in battlements of creativity,
of broken molds,
of self-assurance and self-care,
and found myself in a shallow of withering reeds
that paint the swamp of Capitalism
with shades not of green and dusty heliotrope
but with splotchy patches of dull beige and gray,
the colors of money and greed,
like leeches sucking souls dry.
The long, dark teatime of the soul, Adams said,
and I think most of my fellow human aliens sense,
the sinking abyss drains us dry.
But today, in this hour of soulless urge,
I sit up, I smile, I rest, and I sing,
delighting in finger paints, storytelling,
piano keys and songs,
and I thumb my nose at the machine
which depressed souls defend, thinking it our salvation
while I know it to be the demolition of life, of joy, of hope.
I’ll drink my homemade Rooibos latte,
pet a tiny, gray kitten called Stardust,
and smile as the Doctor brings magic to the world through
song and story and fae memory and mold-breaking,
just as I do in my own ways Mondays through Fridays,
with this waltz of creativity, pleasure, and wonder,
peacefully winning skirmishes against the demons
which aim to exhaust and dismantle this weird, unrelenting,
ever-creating me that dreams and sees visions come true.Quiet yourself, thou long, dark teatime of the soul,
and let your companions exultation and cleverness
shine their blazing luminance over you
so that we all may waltz with felicity’s anthem of courage
against the pressures of productivity without ardor.
Need more poetry? We’ve got an abundance at the MockingOwl Roost!
- Faith and Work
- Enough
- My Favorite Carving – A Poetry Reading
- Rising Tide
- Twilight
- Secret Garden
- Pigeon
- Known – A Poetry Reading
- A Crack in the Darkness
Editor-in-Chief of The MockingOwl Roost, Rita Mock-Pike is the granddaughter of aviatrix, Jerrie Mock, first woman to pilot an airplane solo around the world. Rita has found inspiration from her grandmother’s life and flight and pursued many of her own dreams in theatre, podcasting, novel writing, and cooking up delicious food from around the world. She now writes on food, travel, pets, faith, and the arts. She’s happily married to Matt, and faithfully serves the very fluffy kitten queen, Lady Stardust.
