PRONE TO WANDER

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Some say rain settles the scattering heart
Some argue it enrages the wandering

The rains have started and things are as they should be
The floods have come for my roof which was built to last
After which they reach for my soul which was meant to stay
I thought I was lost in a sweet dream
Not knowing the showers are from an actual leaking roof
In the midnight I wake
Lightning lights my flooded room

Oh darn!

I don’t try to light the candle with my wet matches
I don’t reach for my rechargeable lamp
Which of course is dead
Thankful electricity is long gone
And I don’t have to step into a flood of shocks

They say rain enrages the wandering heart.

(Intermission…)

I have never built a home to last
I know I am always set to move with the next turn of the season
I don’t spend two seasons in one place
I don’t settle down and take roots
In friends and jobs and titles and neighbourhoods
I don’t plan for that future
I don’t carry a rope with me to tie myself down to anyone with
I don’t even carry a printer to print certificates and garner awards

The heart is not wild or rebellious
It is just prone to wander

It finds discomfort in calmness and weakness in stability
So I take a sweet flower with me wherever I go
To give those around who would be close to me
And whilst they see it as a pleasant gesture
I am watching for when the flower-fade begins
As a timer for my departure

People kid themselves
Don’t human physiology and psychology teach one thing
All are in constant state of activity
Even in the depth of that most restful sleep
The body is still active
Only dead things settle down

It is not deliberate
Things have just come to be the way they are
Hairs are always on end
Sleeping with eyes wide open
Hands always reached out
Feet always itching to move

Till the day I grew tired of it
And finally decided to make a home

Well now, here’s back to the start and end of the story

Settled finally in my home
At the start of the rainy season
Which is always a reminder to count
The many showers of blessings in my short life
The rain tears through my roof
In the middle of this night
I wake up in the middle of my house
The room dark and flooded
Full of possessions and loved ones
Grab that bag I kept in the corner of the wardrobe
And in 5 seconds I’m out the house
Only my boxers on
Not even stopping to check
If everyone else is alive in the flooded space
Sling my bag over my broad thickened shoulders
And leap through the window of the upper bedroom
My bare feet making no sound on the floor below
In the middle of the stormy rain
In the middle of the night

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My bag containing the two ONLY possessions
My wandering heart
And a beautiful rose
__________________________________________

BACKGROUND: “Quiet times” by Dido Armstrong playing in the background; and I echo “It’s hard enough to see the world as it is, and hold on anything”.

“Caution: what cynicism you may accuse me of is what you humanity has shown me. I am just a mirror; and my writings are not my own.” -JANISH

Mankind has done it again. The heart is by far more unpredictable than the weather. I am amazed afresh at how we behave. No, I have not seen it all! I have seen a lot, and I should be used to how our minds dance; but it amazes me afresh with some sparks of ingenuity. And I am left asking, fallen on the dancefloor, “how did you do that?” It does not follow any rule of love or reason. It does not even follow itself. It just wanders… drifts… fluctuates… dissociates….

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26 responses to “PRONE TO WANDER

  1. I think this is the best piece I have seen from you, and that is saying a lot. I say it’s best because I feel it. How wistful and transient we are, even when we convince ourselves that we are finally grounded. And how transportable the really important things remain, no matter how much junk we buy and populate through the spaces. Doc, this was a pleasure. I can see you running down the street, the flood seeping about your ankles, and I think – or I imagine – that you are laughing as you flee. I hope so. I would run this length with you, truly I would.

    • Whoa! Don’t quite know how to respond to that compliment. Thanks much, Sir Trent. A lil secret: I seem unable to successfully make myself write a story. And I have tried often. But, I try to please a story-teller like you, as a sign that my pieces are not boring poetry. Glad you loved it.

      A solemn acknowledgement of your willingness to run this length. I tell you, I don’t understand the human mind at all. I have seen enough to confuse me, and I can’t come up with any algorithm or rule to define it. What to do when you were once sure you had found something or an experience that’s magical and truly ingenious but the same thing soon becomes faded and trite, and you are left floating, unable to easily wrap your mind around the change.

      Thanks much for your visit.

      • It’s impossible to understand people, Doc, as impossible as it is to understand ourselves even. That is why we write, no? To explain some part of who we are, in building a tapestry of words to describe and perhaps define our lives. I am in my words, though my words are not about me.

        And yes, it fades at time. That’s part of the ride. I hope you get to your story, but I think you are already writing one, pieces at a time.

    • Trent you took the words right out of my mouth, this was truly remarkable.
      And so reminiscent of neglected truths, my absolute favorite lines had to do with ‘death things are the only ones that do settle’ and ‘the human heart has proved to be more capricious than the weather.’The best part of today was reading this i do hope you do not mind my re=blog.

  2. This is a lovely piece.
    The diction, the flow and the imagery are almost perfect (that’s because I know you won’t accept perfection yet).
    Life itself is in pieces, happy is the man who has been able to live in peace with his own piece of it.
    Keep writing bro!

  3. I wander wander wander wander who… who wrote the book of love… HA!

  4. “The heart is not wild or rebellious
    It is just prone to wander”

    Yhoor! This one I so relate with. Beautiful piece!

    • Quite an amusing name Gordon gave them. I agree there are different species of men, and it’s interesting dealing with them separately.

      Thanks for playing along.
      Your medals in this field really shine. I wonder how many songs have been encoded there -in your memory circuit.

      • Quite a few good friend. It is fun when your writing brings one up that has been buried for awhile. Perhaps they are not always an exact fit; but something you pen – whether the entire verse or just a line or two inspire that particular muse.
        That said, I think your writing is exceptional. Thanks for sharing. = >

        • I am most certainly going to disagree with that. Well, except you are saying few compared to the music database of the planet. Yeah, they may not be exact fit, but even I have enjoyed some other parts of the songs, like Gordon calling these the rain people. I have long enjoyed this game you bring to the house. Thanks much, Uncle Buck.

          I am humbled to hear this.
          You are warmly welcome.

  5. Reblogged this on ofsenseandsensibility and commented:
    amazing work

  6. I can see you sitting on your roof, dreaming of wandering in a downpour with nothing but a rose in your pocket, never having to fix the hole in the roof! lol go ahead, wander, wonder while you wander… it’s great for the soul. brings peace Doc. STILL want a reply though, this is FEBRUARY and you haven’t posted!!! ARE YOU ALIVE???? sure hope so! 🙂

  7. Hahahaha! At least I am sitting on the part of the roof without a hole.
    I agree letting the mind wander at times is refreshing for the soul.
    Oh dear! That’s sweet of you. I have been having phone and laptop problems. Apologies.

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