Bauble - March 5 2022

 

Bauble

March 5 2022

I'm finding it hard to focus, these days.

Can't concentrate.

My mind wanders

distractions call.

Memory slips.

Like an electrically charged eel,

so the harder I squeeze

the more easily

I lose my grip.

Is it too much information, too much stress?

Could it be age

sleep

light deprivation?

It's winter, after all

and nights are long.

Or is it this restlessness

this rage I've suppressed

the feeling of futility?

They say it's epidemic.

That attention spans have lessened

we've become more superficial.

So perhaps, in another age

I would have written novels

instead of poetry.

Or long rants

and over-heated tracts

and self-indulgent pamphlets

of rabid agitprop,

instead of short verses

about love lost

and bad weather.

Too long, and I lose track

forget what I'm talking about.

Leave things half done

put them off

not bother.

Or simply stop,

moving on

to the next bright bauble

that catches my eye.

I brought absolutely nothing to this poem; a complete blank. So I guess that became the subject: this mushy-brained feeling of emptiness; a vague restless ennui.

The funny thing is that as I was writing and became more enthused and engaged, I began to feel much more focused and clear-headed.