I’ve had a hard time staying focused lately. I’ll admit it. Work has been a series of interesting but taxing steps backwards and forwards. There are days when I have four or five straight meetings. Writers and meetings don’t mix well. I have a habit of saying whatever is on my mind. We call it meeting Tourettes. I always expect it to bite me on the ass, but it almost never does. I’m starting to think people invite me to meetings just to see what I will say.
In my spare time at work I try to produce the technical documentation everyone is having meetings about. Even when I have a two or three hour block of time to work, I still have to find focus if I want to get anything done. This is not a simple matter. Concentrating in a field of cubicles is a challenge. Privacy is a myth in the world of cubicles, and quiet is a fantasy.
I have begun doing mini-meditations in order to refocus. I sit still, close my eyes, and visualize my breath as it flows in and out of my body. I slow down my breathing and release the tension from my muscles. I try to quiet all of my extraneous thoughts. It isn’t a complex meditation, it is simple and fast and it helps. After about two minutes of this, I can focus on the tasks I have in front of me — at least until the next interruption.
Quiet and meditation can help the poetic process as well. It is easier to write when you are calm and still. That is why many people choose to get up early in the morning and start writing before the noise and the chaos of the day gets into full swing. The morning can be a fertile time for the mind. You have just awakened from sleep and your mind has been dreaming and otherwise recharging. There are less distractions and complications when you first get up.
Unfortunately, a calm morning is often not an option. Some people have to take their writing time where they can get it. This is when meditation can come in handy. It may not be as good as a night’s sleep, but pushing away the chaos can free the mind to create, even in a cubicle or at Starbucks.
Here are some simple Sample Meditations that you can try.
Today’s Poetry Prompt
Write a poem that ends with the word “quiet”.
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per aspera et aspera et aspera
a crisis born a blade an edge
a daydream of a swandive ledge
the lifethreat hovers dire and stark
the hellhound’s snarl the smotherdark
None deny it
an action taken some relief
a passage but no time for grief
there still awaits disaster hidden
continents of woe unstridden
Rack and Riot
if trials are faced and courage mustered
duty honor hope enlustered
battle waged and terror spurned
you may then take the rest you’ve earned
Peace and Quiet
As One
Warm and comfy
Lazing around
Wine and conversation
Slumbering down
Easy sexy banter
Talking together
Whispering nonsense
Slowing down
Just you
Just me
Just us
Together
Lounging
In perfect serenity
Existing as one
Quietly.
Dear Ones:
I fight the mad
voices in my head,
the angry voices
on the street,
the thousand shoulds
coursing through the day
Hoping for that moment
my radio turns to quiet
Summer Hell
Out my window the weather is loud
I hear the mother, the father
Bawling at the numberless children
And the kids howling, whooping.
Good weather means no end in sight.
I turn on music that drowns nothing.
The kids call each other assholes
The father threatens, the mother shrieks.
My nerves are taut, my breathing labored.
I try to meditate and hear more screeching.
Later the swing set’s rust is loudly groaning.
I close my book, not marking the page.
It seems an unfair act of the universe
For one who lives alone so quietly.
I speak to no one, disturb no one.
Why me? I ask of no one.
Now it is fall and they are all gone.
The yard yawns brownish and empty.
The swing set is still and vacant.
No one screams. No one cries. Quiet.
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Nice poems
this is getting interesting though I am not a poem freak, nor can I write poems myself.
@John, thanks for the simple meditations link. The other option is practicing Yoga (if under the right instructor) to fight burnout, keep young and optimize your energy levels. I guess, Yoga is getting accepted well in the west these days…
Cheers and awaiting more poems…
Ajith
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POEM
They said – Write a poem that ends with “quiet”
but they didn’t tell me what kind of quiet
is it the darkness of dawn, the now dimming sound of
the garbage truck as it pulls back
the plang, plang of metal slamming bin-receding
is it the quiet of my children who tiptoe at the edge of their
netherworld, as they lay in the benevolent sunlight – books
and pink castles spread around them.
maybe it’s the quiet that I take
when I swallow
my own sound. Stiffle and stuff
the claw footed demon- shush, shush now
–wouldn’t want to wake it.
Or is it the quiet of poetry itself
- the silent shadow slips under your door,
hand now over your mouth-pulling you
to the back alley where it’s truths are written.
- revelations that are anything but quiet.
Having a Fit
She circles her hips along on the platform
And the hoops on the screen swing around
The synthetic music scales to the action
Rising and falling in motion with the circles
As the air whirls gently around her
The counter ambulates upwards past
Three hundred and heading to four
I laugh at her rotating butt but she doesn’t hear
She is intent on victory and the record
And I am content to watch her quietly
Good poems everyone. It looks like this subject worked out pretty well.
@ Tim
It is good to see you here my friend. It’s good knowin’ you’re out there. Takin’ ‘er easy for all us sinners.
i do not like quiet
my thoughts race of suicide
it is my inabilit to coceive thoughts
process, progress denial in quiet
i lie still mortified in fustration
i pop pills to inflict pain
so my body cries pain
the pain that subsides in memory of being hurt
i lie quiet still till death becomes me inside
quiet i hear voices chanting in my mind
at my moment of peace i lie still quiet
a moment of silence i drift in dreams
of being far off not here in paradise
i lie still quiet quiet i lie still
Loud
Bright, melodious
Rising, calling, filling
Chimes, resonance … Stillness, hush
Calming, comforting, stirring
Dark, peaceful
quiet
i do not own these street
the streets own me
as i walk through indignation
i anticipate my fate in denial
of my true identity to discover
a morbid thrust of stability
demeans reason
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