Wednesday, 12 August 2015

The Fine Art of Self Defence

It is absurd
to look for clever words,
obediently arranged
within the constraints
of grammatical requirements.
For my thoughts
are not the sort of mental logistics
that arrive neatly packaged,
with perfect punctuation
to please the pedants.
Oh no! My mental gymnastics tumble and race,
pushing and shoving -
tripping over each other -
betraying grammatical dyspraxia.
Whilst superior souls watch on horrified -
deploring spelling errors,
wincing at wrong tenses
and abhorring the blatant and repeated abuse of apostrophes
"When will she ever learn?" they sigh
"When will she ever learn!"

Meanwhile another train of thought has pulled out of the station.
I cannot wait for perfection - it bores me.
My mind leaps,
with all the finesse of an elephant,
kicking dust in the faces of my critics
"It is a blog!" I cry,
"By tomorrow, it will be history!"
It is a mystery
why you want to waste time ironing out insignificant inconveniences of syntax,
when you could be exploring yet more adventurous avenues of thought.
Theses words are for the moment.
Ponder on them,
for tomorrow
they will have melted away
This is just the way it is.
Shakespeare's words will live on,
long after I am gone.
As you like it
or
not.