Rhyme Time

First Marloes wrote a post called distraction. Then my closest pal Ces wondered about our mutual distraction due to the sheer joy and voluminous time we spend together. Then in my weekly Big Yellow writing group, I found myself with something to say about distraction.

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As long as we are alive, we each get the same amount of minutes each day. So if distraction means consciously living in the moment, savoring those special people and places, and slo-o-o-w-ing down, why not?, you might ask. Why not indeed......

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Distraction

The paint awaits
The sweetest fate
As though I’m eight
And already late

I’m moving slow
And well below.
No grass to mow
And even so

Who would have known
The sunrise tone
From the telephone
Rings not alone

The laundry stack
Wants to attack
But instead sneaks back
in a laughing sack

Who would have guessed
My maybe best
will now confess
that more is less

The colored sky
Does not ask why
So why would I try
To reach so high?

My list is long
I could plug along
With tweezer tongs
That don’t sing songs

But suddenly I stop and rest--
Decide to quickly flunk the test,
Remember why I’m kind of blessed,
And snuggle in my secret nest

It’s distraction, yes, it is, no doubt
It snakes inside and then peeps out
When I forget to pause and pout
It’s because I’m playing all about

Tell me that I’m wasting time
And I’ll be inclined to remind
The kettle to forget to find
the hooting steam that fails to bind

I’m painting words upside down
Twirling, turning each around
Until they fall without a sound
Onto orange sacred ground

I might watch them dance before they spill
Just beyond the window sill
or maybe roll down the widest hill
into space that I won’t fill

It’s Saturday and winds will blow
Around everything I use to know
And should you stop instead of go
Please be glad I told you so

You can sniffle, wince, regret and moan
And cover, conquer, then atone
But when it’s clear you’ve finally grown
I hope you hightail it back to home.

As for me, I’ll still be here
Distracted from this daily care
Strangely brave about old fear,
Skipping sidewards, holding dear.

You can tell me I am wasting time
But don’t forget the time is mine
And if I forget to toe the line,
Well…all I can say is: “Fine!”