Roswila's Dream & Poetry Realm

SEE ALSO: TRYING TO HOLD A BOX OF LIGHT (photos, realistic to abstract)

Sunday, July 09, 2006



One of the first things that hit me as I prepared to retire several months ago, was just how long I'd been working. I went to work right out of High School and I graduated early, at 16 (I was considered extra-smart in those days :-D). So that's 46 years, not a few years longer than my roommate has been alive. Given this, I realized recently I'd not posted much here about the work world and my experiences in it, which have been various -- to put it mildly -- and mostly very difficult.

Had I to do it all over? Yes, it would have been wonderful if I'd had the presence of mind to choose a way to earn a living more in synch with my nature. As it was, though, I can't imagine myself having made any other choices than the ones I did. And given all the challenges I've met and survived, I respect myself for having made it to retirement. However, I'm not going to focus here (at least not yet) on those difficulties but on those experiences that helped me "keep on keepin' on."

The below short piece was written at a time (the middle 1980's) when I was still very much effected by the radical politics I'd been involved in earlier, including a union organizing drive. However, it is more about about one of those sweet moments of quiet human communion.

When I'd read this piece at poetry readings I'd sing the song lyrics. This was a frightening experience. I always suffered from terrible stage fright, especially if I had to sing anything. On a couple of occasions I "copped out" and had a friend do the singing instead. So why, you might ask, did I do readings/performances at all? Because, like the punch line to the old joke, "It felt so good when I stopped!" Seriously, though, because I would usually calm down once I felt a rapport developing with the audience, and I enjoyed (and needed) the ongoing community and feedback.


The oppressive workday was almost over. Joan hovered wordlessly by Dina at her terminal, seeking the creature comfort of proximity. Daniel, arriving late for the night shift, collapsed his tense frame into the neighboring workstation. The silence between the three co-workers attenuated, waivered, and settled like briefly stirred silt.

Then Daniel's sweet, tremulous tenor rose gently above the intrusive clacking of his keyboard, "We shall o-ver-co-o-ome, we shall o-ver-co-o-ome...."

Her elegant posture undisturbed Dina joined Daniel, "We shall over-come some da-a-a-ay...." The clacking of her keyboard a steady counterpoint to his.

Joan held her breath, then slipped seamlessly into their soft singing, "O-oh deep in my hear-ear-eart, I do be-lieve...."

Sadness was an almost palpable undercurrent which sought to move them closer to each other across the gulfs of history and isolation.

There, in the very belly of the whale, they sang. And the whale turned fitfully in its sleep.

* * * *

Resource: Tell Me A Story, by Geraldine Amaral, how to use the Tarot to help you write stories.

‘til next time, keep dreaming,


[aka: Patricia Kelly]

****If you wish to copy or use any of my writing or poems, please email me for permission (under “View my complete profile”)****My other blog: ROSWILA’S TAROT GALLERY & JOURNAL.


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