Editor Christopher Writes: A Poem A Day For A Year – 17/01/14

I’m a little drunk off lucky dip tokens at our local bar so today’s blog will be brief. I think some of you may appreciate that after yesterday’s anti-feminism post. Though that post garnered the highest reception since I started doing this so maybe I should lay into good causes more often. Oxfam, I’m coming for you next.

As far as weeks go, it’s not been a good one this week. My productivity has plummeted. I’m the kind of person who is willing to work hard to achieve their goals but wants to see at least a little instant success to qualify what they are doing as going in the right direction. This may be the wrong thinking entirely but it is how I think. After the few weeks surrounding Christmas, I have made a lot of progress with my depression by keeping busy on the magazine front. I have been engaging on Twitter a lot more and yes, our follower statistic has nearly doubled and I have started to put a media kit and business plan together but a lot of it feels like it is moving very slowly.

When I had my mental health assessment, the therapist asked what I had done that morning. I said not a lot because I had only woken up at half past ten so I felt like the morning was a bust, given there was only an hour and a half left of it. She pointed out that rather than seeing that there was only an hour and a half left so why bother, I should think more along the lines that there is an hour and a half left in which to do some real good. This is something I struggle with.

I feel like there is a weight of expectation on me to continuously perform to the highest level possible for a human and sometimes it is something I really struggle with. As I did this week. Apart from going to the gym a few times and maintaining this blog, I have not really done much of anything else. I still have Sunday and I am aiming for a really positive week next week. I have another job interview which I am looking forward to and then there is Do The Write Thing and a few events at which I may bare my nipples, depending on the crowd and how frisky I feel.

I said I would keep this brief. I am struggling to tether thoughts in the same place for more than a few moments so here is a poem. The prompt tonight is playing a sport so if you want to write your own, feel free to come and get involved!

Everything says slow down,

take a breath,

breathe,

breathe,

heart rate slows to

a steady

beat.

Beat.

Breathe.

Beat.

Breathe.

The leather under my finger-tips

is wet silk,

too slippery.

Despite the Zen-breathing,

I feel my pulse in my eyelids

and ears,

hammering the sense.

All eyes are on me.

I line up,

elbow in sync with shoulder and wrist,

the leather resting on extreme extremities,

rested against a supporting hand.

Beat.

Breath.

Beat.

Exhale.

My shoulder pushes up, elbow straightening,

forearm extending,

wrist flicking, fingers pointing.

The ball arcs through the air

with geometric precision, the perfect throw.

Eyes follow, breath is held.

One second on the clock,

these two points could win the game.

The balls tracks the hoop,

the hoop opens for the ball.

It drops and drops

and drops

and misses.

Once again, while you are here, the latest issue and all previous issues of Bunbury Magazine are available for your discerning reading pleasure right here – Bunbury Magazine – All the Issues

Also, feel free to come and check out our brand-new, half-finished website for a sneak peek behind the scenes of what we are doing: bunburymagazine.com

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