There is a little gladness in me

There is a little gladness in me
At small things, routine fare,
Clichés even,
The smell of coffee in my mother's home,
Hot Chocolate. Clothes fragrant and soft from
The washing machine. Ginger tea. See:

The thing is, there is a little gladness in me
At a stolen cigarette in the rain,
A peppery cocktail.
The hint of mint on the lips of a kiss,
New sweaters. The cold and glamour of
An anticipated country. See:

The thing is, there is a little gladness in me
A little mushroom of gratitude
A little truffle of joy
A little feeling of camaraderie
With a wonderful boy. Even my saddest memory
Has lost its old melancholy. See:

The thing is, there is a little gladness in me.

When to write poetry

Poetry should be attempted when you are tired
And unable to think of the right word
And a clever line is tantalisingly out of reach.

Poetry should be attempted when your mind has been
Shut down, even while the computer is still on
And tomorrow's meeting has taken on the mien
Of a monstrous spreadsheet.

Poetry should be attempted in the midst of a week's grime
When you haven't had time to clean and the weekly help hasn't been in
And the nightmare pile of dirty clothes assumes towering proportions
And the rain only adds to your sense of ill usage and injustice
Because now the clothes will never dry.

Poetry should be attempted in the humdrumming noise
Of the inside voice
That will yell at you
To change that bulb
Write that mail
Call that angry friend.

Poetry should be attempted in the mundane clauses
Of everyday contracts
That demand you sleep
And eat and work
Because otherwise poetry
Would never be attempted.

Social Contracts

In the precipitate rush of the Everyday
We converge
Incessantly.
At traffic lights,
At the gym,
At the food,
At our collective computers and coffees to
Reassure ourselves that we are indeed
Bound for a place
And a time
And a life
That is worth the constant smell and sight and sound
Of the Other.

Certainty

We have stripped Life
Of her mystery and found that she is beautiful
In her nakedness.
Earlier she was annoyingly coy and filled
Us with the urge
To slap her.